Mr Monk and the Wishful Thinking
by Amymimi
Summary: During Mr. Monk and the End, difficulties cause Natalie and Adrian to re-evaluate their relationship. Basically, if the series doesn't end M/N , I'll make it so anyway! Please read and review! Sequel now posted!
1. Bad News

**A/N: This story hopefully will satisfy your and my desire for a M/N pairing at the end of the Monk series, if the TV show itself doesn't deliver. I for one think they belong together and many episodes have supported a possibility for M/N. As you are probably aware, there are spoilers for what happens in Mr. Monk and the End Part I (but not part II, at least until after it runs this Friday--because I don't know what'll happen!) Please read and review!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Monk nor am I making any money from this.**

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"What am I supposed to do?" Adrian Monk moaned, his voice breaking. "Is this what everyone has to go through when they're dying?"

Monk sat on his couch in his plaid robe, a cool washcloth on his forehead. It was six in the evening and the streetlights were just beginning to peek through Monk's Venetian blinds. His house, though impeccably clean, felt stuffy and uncomfortable. There was a different feel about his apartment tonight. The atmosphere, for once, would not first be described as orderly—it was, instead, a place of utter despair. His assistant Natalie Teeger sat next to him, watching him carefully.

"Don't say that word, Mr. Monk," she replied hastily, sniffling afterwards. Monk didn't so much as flinch, allowing his assistant's body, namely, the side of her running from her shoulder to her knee, to rest against his own without even acknowledging it. Her eyes and nose were red and swollen, hair unmade and hanging greasily along her face, wholly unnoticed.

"It's true though, Natalie. You heard the doctor. Two or three days. Forty-eight or seventy-two hours… well, even less than that now."

She watched his eyes as the lids became heavy and then snapped up in a drunken stupor kind of way, his voice weak and ragged.

"Maybe you should get some sleep," she suggested. "You've been awake now for an entire night. That's not good for anyone to do to their body."

"Didn't you just hear me?! I have three days to live! I can't spend the last hours of my life sleeping! I'll be sleeping soon enough."

"You can do whatever you want to do. There's no set course."

He turned to her, eyelids no longer heavy. She could see beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks—or at least she hoped it was sweat.

"What do dying people typically do?"

"Why are you asking me?" she replied with an undercurrent of irritation. She was at wit's end. The revelation that the poison in Monk's system would kill him within the next three days had taken a lot out of her—basically everything, really. She'd never had to comfort a dying person before—and certainly never someone so close to her.

"Is there something I'm supposed to be doing?" he cried, interrupting her thoughts. "It's just—people die all the time, and yet there's no way of knowing what—"

"I don't know," she replied honestly, interrupting his depressing observations.

"I feel like I should be doing something, being as I _know_ I'm going to die. I have this… time, you know? Unlike Trudy and Mitch and all the murder victims over the years…."

Suddenly she flinched as if burned. Monk flinched in turn, gaping at her with shock. Her mouth in a grimace, forehead exposing lines never before revealed, she finally spoke.

"Ahh! _Please_ don't say that word, Mr. Monk! Do you want me to start crying again?"

"No," he mumbled, voice contrite. "Because then I'll do it too and we'll both be messes. Besides, I think we just ran out of Kleenex a half-hour ago anyway…"

"Actually, we ran out two hours ago. I've been using paper towels since then," she responded.

They paused for a minute or so in complete silence. The silence was oddly comforting, as if no words needed to be exchanged between them in order for their feelings to be made clear.

"Where's Julie?" Monk suddenly blurted, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Natalie was taken aback.

"She's with my parents," she explained. "She didn't want to go, but—"

"You should be with her, Natalie. She's all alone and probably confused and upset…."

"She's got my parents and her boyfriend there with her. I'm not leaving you."

"What about your boyfriend? He's probably concerned about you—"

"He'll live," she snapped, shutting her mouth with a grimace, immediately aware of the way her choice of words sounded.

"Yeah, unlike me," Adrian replied with a groan. "You'd be much better off forgetting about me," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "Why stay? As you know, there'll be… vomiting…."

Natalie slapped his arm lightly, her face instantly upset. Already the tears were returning, as she gathered the courage to speak.

"Because I love you and care about you, Mr. Monk. There's no other place in the world I'd rather be right now than—"

"Wait… what?" he said, voice scratchy and barely intelligible.

She instantaneously blushed. The word hadn't been meant in a romantic sense just now, yet her response to his questioning it suggested otherwise, she realized. His interruption flustered her a bit, and she was tongue-tied.

"I said I want to be here with y—"

"No. Before that," he said with a movement of his finger.

A tear slipped down her cheek. This was too much. Did he really miss what she had said, or did he simply want to know that someone loved him and cared about him? She'd said the word before, though including others with herself, like "we," or referring nonspecifically to his "friends." Of course, Monk surely had to deduce she had meant herself in those references, for he knew very well that he had few true friends, including herself, Captain Stottlemeyer, and Randy Disher. Perhaps he just wanted to hear the word again….

"I—I said that I'm staying because…" Why oh why was it so hard to repeat? Maybe it was because this time he was listening for it, his eyes glistening in the dim light of his living room.

"—I'm staying with you because I love you. I care about—"

"You love me."

His tone was of disbelief as he looked directly at her. He was making a face of utter incredulity, his eyes narrowed, mouth drawn up at the edges, similar to his expression when the captain had presented him with that small wooden box containing his badge. She felt cornered, caught. Was it really that difficult for him to believe that he could be loved? Natalie instantly felt a surge of pity and swallowed it, yet there it was again, reappearing in the form of tears, tears that now unabashedly slid down her cheeks. She wiped at her face with her fingertips, unable to hide the rush of emotions that flooded her. She loved him, of that she was certain… but did she love him as more than just a motherly, protective, compassionate kind of love?

"Yes."

His physical response was immediate. From her position leaning against him, she felt him inhale a breath and hold it in as he adjusted his shoulders. When the time came again for her to wipe her eyes, her hand was not able to reach its target—Adrian had put his arm over her forearm. His hand moved on top of hers, the palm of his dry hand against the top of her damp, tear-soaked hand.

"Thank you," he replied dully, hopelessly, "—but I don't want you to feel that you have to mother me because you feel obligated by some kind of maternal—"

"It's not that." She looked down at his hand. It was still on top of her hand, unmoving and by no means acting antsy.

"Not what?"

Somehow he was confused. She could see it in the wrinkling of his brow, the crookedness of his mouth. How could he, a famous detective, have no idea how she felt about him? The odds of him missing every single look, every single touch, and every single compliment that hinted at her sentiments were astronomical.

"It's not a motherly love," she replied curtly.

"Really." He was staring unabashedly at her now. She diverted her eyes, unable to look him in the eye.

"Yes. Really."

"Sisterly?"

"No."

He still looked perplexed. The response of disbelief was irritating. A tense silence fell between them for almost a minute, but it felt like an hour to Natalie. She hoped that he'd stop staring at her, hoped he'd do something, anything to make the silence end. Would he mention Lieutenant Albright again? That would be incredibly awkward. As much as she felt she and Albright made a good match, for all of Albright's mental stability and continual calmness, she found herself hoping he'd have some kind of quirk, some kind of crack in his flawless armor. Not quite as quirky as Monk, of course, but she wished for him to be just more—human. Human, with passion and devotion and obsession so deep it could not be washed away. Adrian Monk had been hopelessly in love with one woman for more than 19 years and Albright had mentioned to her on his submarine that he let a past fiancée walk. Yes, for Albright to ever think about 'living with' her, he had some things to work on.

She had just admitted that she loved Monk and not in a motherly or sisterly sense. She was not at liberty to make such a confession, what with a boyfriend a phone call away. The question remained: what in the world was Adrian going to say next?

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**A/N: Please, pretty please, review! I should be able to post sometime this week before the final Monk episode. I haven't yet written the next chapter so a lot of feedback will help push the words on through my skull.**


	2. Disbelief

**A/N: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for your support! :) It certainly has helped push along the process of my writing this! Here's chapter two!!**

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The seconds ticked by like lifetimes as Natalie pondered the situation. Adrian looked to be deep in thought and she couldn't read whether those were good or bad thoughts.

"What would you do if you were me?" Monk suddenly blurted.

"What do you mean?" She looked horrified by the question. What did it mean? What was he referring to? Why didn't he explain his own feelings on the matter before asking her such a loaded question? There were many instances where a question to her was warranted yet not asked; this was outright unexpected.

"Like, what if you had three days to live—what would you do?"

So it had nothing to do with their earlier conversation. He had dropped it completely. Obviously he didn't feel the way she did. Though she cared for Steve Albright, thoughts of him weren't all-encompassing. Trudy was affixed in his heart and there was nothing that could be done about Adrian's unswayable devotion to his late wife. Interestingly he had not mentioned his wife aloud after finding out his fate, only mentioning her name earlier when speaking of fast deaths and adding nothing more on the thought. Natalie breathed a sigh of relief at his change of subject, though it was a bit saddening to realize her feelings were unrequited.

"I don't know, Mr. Monk. I hadn't really thought about it."

"Well, think! I only have—" he looked down at his watch worriedly, "thirty-eight or sixty-two hours."

She swallowed what she would have said next: namely, that the number of hours wasn't supposed to be exact. Doing so would only make him more hopeless. If he wanted to have control of the situation in a countdown of hours left, so be it. Instead she began to think about references to bucket lists, A.K.A. dying peoples' activity lists.

"There are songs about people doing what they always wanted to do. There's a Tim McGraw song, Live Like You Were Dy—well, you get the point," she said, refusing to say the dreaded word. "You ever heard it?"

He looked at her with a hint of mischief in his eyes, a smile to his eyes much like when he solved cases, his expression instantly telling her the answer.

"Didn't think so. Well, basically in it the guy goes sky-diving—"

"No." His eyes went wide with terror.

"—Rocky Mountain climbing—"

"Definitely not."

"—and, if I remember correctly, he went 2.7 seconds on a bull named Blue Man Chew—"

"Ugh, I don't even want to know what that means," he remarked bitterly. Suddenly he was struck with annoyance. "Sounds to me like the guy wants to die sooner. I'd prefer to extend my three days," he replied snidely. "Anything else?"

"Let me think. I need a minute to remember the lyrics…"

"I doubt I'll like any more of his ideas, if they're anything like the first three."

"No, Mr. Monk—they're much more heartwarming. Oh, right—" she recalled, "like loving deeper and speaking sweeter and—"

"Okay, I get it, Natalie. It figures," he scoffed, "the first three ideas were dangerous and not only that, they're _explicitly_ described. Those next ones—which sound harmless enough—are too vague to do anything with."

"Well then; what do _you_ want to do?" she asked him.

He paused for a long time, his eyes affixed on his window or desk—something in front of him; Natalie couldn't tell. He looked beaten down and exhausted and was straining to think of something. She could see all the lines in his face, some she had never even seen before. He then shut his eyes tightly and dropped his head, his hand still remaining on hers.

Several silent minutes passed with the only sounds the ticking of the clock and the sound of Monk's refrigerator kicking on. Natalie watched the side of his face from her position leaning against his body; instinctively she rested her head on his shoulder. She could feel him breathe in and out, his breaths hoarse and labored.

Suddenly she felt him twitch the shoulder she had been leaning against, and quickly sat back up, feeling self-conscious.

His head lifted back up and he looked at her.

"Wh—why did you move?" His face was distraught.

"You moved your shoulder; I thought I was making you uncomfor—"

"No," he replied quickly. "You can keep your head there. I liked it there."

"Okay, Mr. Monk." Her words were halting, hesitant. Without speaking again she leaned her head on his shoulder. She felt the fingers of his hand curling around her hand and turned her hand over so that their palms were in contact. Rather than jump away or ask for a wipe, Monk let out a sigh-like exhalation of air, his fingers entwining with hers.

"Wait—what was I doing again?" he said. She felt the vibrations of his voice through their head-shoulder connection and going against the usual protocol of immediately correcting her behavior, kept her head where it was when she replied.

"I asked you what you want to do."

"Right," he replied, his shoulder involuntarily twitching. Before she could respond either way to his words or movement, he spoke again.

"Don't move…well, unless you want to—but I hope not."

"I won't move until you tell me to move."

Within moments she began to think of the situation. Monk was dying right in front of her eyes, and soon he'd be cold and unmoving, unable to speak or twitch or laugh. She'd never again look into his warm brown eyes, watch the subtlest of smiles appear on his face as he solved a case, or hear him speak of situations and feelings in his unique and refreshing way. To think of his death was a terrifying thought. She began to sob into his robe, inadvertently moistening the flannel.

"Don't cry, Natalie."

His voice pulled her from her reverie, the raw sweetness and compassion of his tone further driving her to tears.

"Too late. So, what do you want to do? Don't you want to get your mind off things?"

He thought for a moment, dropping his head and grimacing.

"I need a shower," he mumbled. With that, he removed his hand from hers, groaning as he stood up unsteadily. "I feel—dirty."

"You always feel dirty, Mr. Monk."

"No, this is different," he quickly replied. "I don't want them finding me here all dirty and sweaty when they take my body away. I won't be alive to explain."

"Are you not going to go to the hospital at some point?" she cried as she looked up at him, feeling a twinge of hurt at the comment—was it intended for her? That touching her felt—dirty?

"No," he flatly replied with a quick shake of the head.

"Why not?"

"Two words: backless gowns."

He shrugged after his concise explanation. It was as simple as that. Even in his dying hours he was going to stubbornly to his modesty, Natalie noted.

"Well, then, how will they be able to treat you?"

"_Treat_ me? Did you hear the doctor, Natalie? This is it. I am untreatable."

"He never said that."

"I think he made the whole vomiting-then-death sentiment perfectly clear, all without mentioning any kind of treatment." He stumbled slightly as he spoke.

"So let me understand this: you don't want to waste your time sleeping, but you're willing to waste it showering."

"Yes." His shoulder twitched involuntarily. "Showering's sort of like sleeping, really, except I'm cleaner at the end."

"How so? I can't wait to hear this," she muttered.

"My eyes are closed the whole time."

She almost asked him why, and then realized his reasoning: nudity. _Argh. _

"Are you sure you're going to be able to stand for that long, Mr. Monk?" Natalie inquired. Already she could see that he was woozily shifting back and forth on his feet, looking very much like he'd fail a field sobriety test. A Monk shower took at least an hour, and presumably he stood like everyone else to shower. With his eyes closed it'd be even more difficult. If _she_ kept her eyes closed while shaving her legs, she mused, she'd promptly bleed to death from all the nicks.

"You mean, in the shower?" he questioned, eyes narrowed as if he'd seen something distasteful.

"Of course. You're shaky on your feet with your eyes _open_. You haven't even been standing for more than five minutes. I don't want you to fall and hit your head."

"I'll be fine, Natalie; I'm used to it," he said, moving out from behind the coffee table. "However, if you do hear a thud, by all means do _not_ enter the bathroom. Not that you could anyway," he added with a grim smile. "Just leave the house and lock the door behind you. By the time it starts to smell there won't be much for the paramedics to see."

She crossed her arms defensively then, watching him make it around the coffee table and stand before her in his robe and flannel pajama bottoms, face pale and sweaty but hands gesticulating animatedly as if nothing was different. She shook her head disapprovingly at him.

"If I hear a thud and you don't answer me when I call, I'm going in, bathroom door be damned."

"Does this have to do with what you said earlier? Because I'm not sure I ever want to be naked in front of someone again."

She was offended and showed it. For him to play down such strong emotions as something petty and merely physical! For an instant she pictured him and Trudy _together_, as far-fetched as it seemed to her—and then just as quickly pushed those thoughts out of her head.

"What; do you think I want to _check you out_, Mr. Monk? Quite a way to do it; don't you think? Sneaking a peek as you lie unconscious and bleeding to death in the shower!"

"Hey, I don't know the measures you're willing to go to to see—"

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped back.

He held his hands up in surrender, his eyebrows raised. A silence hung on the air for about half a minute before he finally spoke.

"Just so you know, I do have a bellybutton," he muttered, voice thick and stronger than before. He cleared his throat dramatically.

Was he toying with her? She had never gotten a chance to see it, but why was he bringing it back up? It was a random change of subject, but not an entirely unwelcome change. Ever since that day, she had only mentioned the elusive bellybutton once or twice in a passing, joking manner. Was he in essence shoving his foot in the door that he had almost shut in her face?

A naughty little grin appeared on her face as she looked up at him from her position on the couch.

"Whatever, Mr. Monk. I'm still only about 80% certain you're human, but I guess I'll never know for sure."

She watched him for his humor to disappear, as delicate as it would presumably be at a time like this. He dropped his head, and she sighed. _That took less time than I imagined it would._

Instead of looking sad, though, he looked thoughtful. His hands began to fumble with his robe and waistband of his pajama bottoms as he stared down at his pants then at the belt on his robe. As she watched in amazement, he shifted the robe's belt upwards and timidly separated his robe in the center above the waistband of his underlying pajama pants. She glanced up at him extremely briefly before again focusing on what lie underneath the robe, noticing a trace of a smile across his lips. It was as if he was, in his own way, compromising for her forgiveness for the earlier comment that had clearly hurt her feelings. Within a second or two, he exposed his bellybutton, an innie surrounded by a vortex of thick black hair. The skin beneath the hair was very pale, probably having never seen sunlight.

With his bellybutton still exposed, Adrian looked up at Natalie triumphantly, noticing that she was still looking at his stomach. Self-consciously he adjusted the belt of his robe and closed it again.

"Satisfied?" he asked her, a strange kind of arrogance in his voice.

"Absolutely, Mr. Monk," she replied sarcastically, putting a hand to her chest as if overwhelmed. "You can be assured I won't be sneaking a peek at you in the shower, now that my ultimate goal has been accomplished!" She followed her statement with contrived maniacal laughter.

"Really?" he replied, a bit confused by her statement, though she had laid on the sarcastic tone quite heavily.

She stood up, moving around the coffee table, feeling the urge to hug him. He looked so vulnerable right now it was almost unbearable. How could he be so gullible—eh, was that the word for it? She held out her arms triumphantly, enveloping him in a hug—a hug which he returned, albeit weakly. Pulling back from him, though her hands rested on his upper arms, she explained.

"I'm glad to know you're human, but as someone who cares about you, if I hear something bad, I won't hesitate to—"

"Ha!" he suddenly blurted, pointing at her as he did so.

"Ha, what?"

"Now that you know I'm human, you realize you don't have to sweet-talk me with words like _love_," he said in a _tsk_ing manner. "I know you better than you think, Teeger." With that, he tapped a finger against his head, his smile never wavering.

Natalie could only gape at him with an open mouth. He was unbelievable. How could someone so smart be so… well, dumb?

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**A/N: So, that was chapter two! What did you think? Are they in character and is it believable? I'm very excited about the prospect of getting people to see what they want to see happen—M/N!! Please review and let me know what you think!**


	3. Apparition

**A/N: Thank you soooooo very much for all your feedback! As you will hopefully see, I attempted to explain the reasoning for some uncharacteristic actions in the last chapter!! I'm really thankful for your interest and extremely helpful feedback! Please let me know what you think so I can push ideas for the next chapter out of my head!! I'd like to squeeze a good many chapters in before this Friday! And now, for chapter 3:**

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"What are you talking about?" Natalie cried, taking a step back from Adrian. "Are you implying that what I said earlier was so that I could see your bellybutton?!"

"Hey, no need to explain yourself to me," he replied, holding his hands up, a knowing grin on his tired face. He _was_ flirting with her but in a way she'd never imagined, by teasing that her feelings weren't real. Whether or not he actually believed that there were underlying motives when she told him she loved him wasn't important—he'd already informed her of his reasoning for believing it.

"That's _not_ why I said it, Mr. Monk," she asserted, her voice lower than before. "I said it because I meant it."

"Sure, sure." He was unabashedly grinning now, looking down at her with a smile of perfect confidence.

Natalie was irritated by this exchange. Did he really think she was that shallow? Did he really think he could lie about something like that?

"So are you saying you told Trudy you loved her just so you could see her bellybutton—or whatever you wanted to see on her?"

He looked utterly stumped, and froze in place, the sheen of sweat on his brow. His smile of confidence had changed into a grimace of discomfort. She had touched a nerve there, and was glad to have done so.

"Of course not," he muttered, his shoulder twitching. "But that's different…."

"No it's not."

"It's not?"

"No," she replied, utterly exasperated. "Just go take your shower, Mr. Monk."

With a gentle push she began to walk him towards the bathroom, him not bothering to resist though she hadn't exactly promised him she would not enter the room if he should fall. He couldn't help but wonder why she was dropping the subject. Was she saying that her feelings for him were like his feelings for Trudy? That was utterly impossible. He was utterly taken with Trudy: she his every thought, the cause of every smile, the reason he wanted to wake up in the morning. She was his life. How could Natalie dare put herself on that level?! She was dating another man, for God's sake!

"Natalie, why are you telling me this…" he murmured irritably as a late response, as they strode down his hallway arm in arm.

"Why am I telling you how I feel!?" she cried, her voice pitched higher. "Because I can't let you go without you knowing the truth. I thought you'd figure it out on your own—and you didn't."

"What are you talking about? You're with Lieutenant Albright. How could I compete with that? He's normal… and not dying."

"Mr. Monk!" she cried, her voice shrill. "If you say the word again so help me!" She took a second to calm herself. "You know that I've only been with him since the captain's wedding. The only reason I even called him up in the first place was because you were in the wedding party and I needed a wedding date."

Now mere steps outside the bathroom, Monk came to a sudden halt. Natalie followed suit. He turned to his assistant.

"So if I hadn't been the captain's best man you wouldn't have called up Lieutenant Albright," he muttered, studying her expression.

"Right."

She crossed her arms, looking adamant.

"So it's my fault that you're with him," he said.

"No, but—"

"That's what you just said. If I hadn't been in the wedding party you would have gone with me."

"Yes, but—"

"And then you ended up in the wedding party anyway. It's fate, Natalie, that you're with him now. I can't compete with fate. Look at the cards it dealt me. In two or three days I'll be dead."

"Stop that, Mr. Monk," she scolded. "They'll figure out what the poison is and they'll treat you. You're going to be okay. I've been researching ricin and it says that if you can hold out for a couple of days, your chance of survival goes way up. You've got to keep strong and stop putting yourself down."

"You're not a very good liar, you know."

"It's true," she insisted, squeezing his elbow. "I read it from a couple of reliable sites on the internet."

"Thank you for trying to make me feel better, but it's no use," he said with a shrug. "Well, being as this shower will take a while, as you know, you should probably call your boyfriend," he added bitterly, leaning the heel of his hand against the bathroom door. "If I were him I'd be worried about you."

Now what was _that_ supposed to mean?

As she opened her mouth to speak, Adrian moved past her to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. It seemed her recent dalliance with Lieutenant Albright had stunted any deeper relationship with Adrian Monk from growing. The seeds had been planted, that she certainly knew. She thought back to several touching moments that stuck out in her mind….

_There was the day she had left a very promising date to accompany Adrian to his college class reunion, allowing for all who saw them to assume they were a couple—and being surprisingly okay with that fact. _

_That time when he had been arrested for the murder of Frank Nunn, she had refused to believe him capable of such a thing. And in believing him to be killed by the captain's hand, it would have been easy for her to hold a lifelong grudge on the captain. She had put her life savings into Monk's memorial, had given him Mitch's prized Navy uniform to wear without a second thought. It came naturally for her to want to help him, to sympathize with him, to honor him. When she finally found him in that car wash, he accepted her flourish of kisses without pulling away. _

_They had been locked in a bank vault together. He had placed Trudy's bracelet across her wrist, had placed his head in her lap and fallen asleep. Though they were running out of air fast, it was quite the time to bond. She had enjoyed comforting him, had enjoyed the weight of his body on hers, had felt a kind of peace at watching him sleep ever so quietly in her lap. _

_Then there was his birthday only two months ago. He had told her what he perceived to be a deep dark secret, one that he hadn't even shared with his therapist. She had surprised him completely with a party and he was utterly delighted; had spent over $100 to hire and transport Cowboy Hank out of the old age home for an afternoon just to rewrite history for Adrian, to show him that the partiers were there for him and not the entertainer. She'd never seen such joy in his face at the sight of all his friends and coworkers, though she had seen how he stared at the side of her face as she spoke her _final _words upon emerging from the dumpster, had seen how he had blinked in complete shock, almost falling over, as she made the revelation. As they sat at their table later, he'd lifted cake to her mouth on his fork, no less. Only a couple of minutes passed before he used that same fork, that unwashed fork, to feed himself some cake. She remembered thinking at the time: had he forgotten what he had done? The answer was a resounding no! Adrian Monk did not forget!_

_After getting his badge back, he'd told her he'd miss her. He hadn't asked her to give back her key to his apartment, hadn't even told her to lock up after he'd left for work that morning. She'd almost moved across the threshold to give him a kiss, only stopping after she'd considered possible negative reactions from him. She'd never felt more like a wife than she did that morning, making him his meal for work. It gave her feelings of warmth and comfort that she thought she had lost for good when Mitch died. Of course, later on when Adrian had decided to quit the force on his own volition, it was he who moved to hug her—and he did so fully and unabashedly—she'd never admit to him the tingles she felt at that moment. _

The seeds were there, germinating into little white stalks in the darkness, their cotyledons emerging as a perfect pair of tiny leaves. The presence of Steve Albright, especially at present, served as an herbicide to halt the progress that had been made between her and Adrian, the slow emergence of feelings that would have at one point been next to impossible to even consider. The herbicide had done its duty, had poisoned the plant, and now Monk was suffering a very real poisoning. The irony of the situation was thick enough to slice.

Could it be that Monk's recent barrage of bitter remarks was because he was hurt? Could it be that he believed her confession of love to be a joke because of her choice to date Albright? She had told him she loved him, but really, what reason was there for him to believe her words when she was currently with another man? Really though, it explained a lot. He at first had been in a kind of denial, yet he then allowed bitterness to seep in. Though she claimed to love him, she had not chosen him.

"Just tell me what you want me to do!" she suddenly cried against the door, feeling overcome with emotion. Instead of an answer, she heard the shower being turned on at the same time her tears began flowing again.

* * *

Adrian Monk sighed as he turned the lock on his bathroom door, hearing the resounding click as the deadbolt slid into the wall. The deadbolt had been installed at his request and was a rather good investment. There'd be no unexpected visitors while he was in an indecent state. If he should fall, there'd be no way for Natalie to get through that door and help him. Ah, but what was the use anyway? He'd be dead soon enough. For one instant he considered silently unlocking the door but his nudity phobia quickly overruled that thought.

As he turned the shower on, he could've sworn he heard a quick, choked intake of breath, like a sob.

_Nah_, he reassured himself. With another sigh, he undid the belt of his robe and checked the water temperature. _Perfect._

Shutting his eyes tightly, he slipped out of his robe and then the remainder of his clothes and stepped into the shower, leaning on the wall for support. With one sense completely unavailable to him, he could now hear the faint steps of Natalie's footfalls outside the door fading as she walked down the hallway.

Thankfully the multicolored pills had taken away the dots, but the fact still remained that he had a throbbing headache and worse, that he was nauseated. The big N. The big N that would eventually lead to the bigger V. _Oh, God._ To even think about it made the nausea that much worse.

Would Natalie run from the house when _it_ started to happen? He wished he could run away when the time came. Even if Trudy had done _it_, he would have run, but she rarely got sick and he couldn't remember the last time he'd been sick in such a way. He made a mental note to move _vomiting_ up to the number two spot—scratch that, the number one spot on his phobia list. And death would be the new number two. The rest would fall in place after that.

How was he going to get Natalie out of the house when _it_ happened? Even if she was crazy enough to want to stay, he did not want her seeing such things.

_I can't let her go through that_, he mused. _The only thing worse than watching it is doing it._

He felt around blindly in front of him for the soap and a clean washcloth he'd put out the day before. The water beating down on his chest was extremely hot and yet he ignored the pain as he lathered up and began washing his face, wiping the sweat and tears and whatever else off his skin.

Within a minute or so the intense heat became too much. He opened his eyes, albeit briefly, focusing them on the showerhead, which he promptly aimed away from him. His mind focused on the task at hand, he adjusted the temperature of the water.

_This may be the last time I take a shower. I'm not going to make it to Christmas. Will they bury me next to Trudy? Now that I think about it, I should have bought her a bigger tombstone with my name on it. Why didn't I, anyway? Should she and I have separate tombstones or one tombstone? I should tell Natalie, so she can handle that issue if I'm not able to get to it. _

The question remained: why _had_ he not bought a tombstone big enough for both their names? Was he, in the days following her death, so out of it that he hadn't been thinking clearly while buying the tombstone, or had he purposely left the possibility open that he wouldn't be buried next to her?

He groaned, feeling wave after wave of pain attacking his stomach. Though his eyes were closed he felt the room spinning around him. Before he could allow the baseline level of nausea to creep up to even more noticeable levels, he decided to sit down and calm himself.

The shower poured down on his head as he sat with eyes tightly shut on the bottom of the bathtub, the steam in the air making it more difficult than usual to breathe.

It was then that he heard an odd metallic ringing in his ears, overpowering the sound of the water falling upon his head and the floor of the tub. It became so intense that he covered his ears, lifting his head to look up at the shower head and nothing more. What he saw there shocked him.

It was a bright white apparition of Trudy floating in front of the shower head—well, more like standing there. She was clad all in a blindingly white dress and the water flow apparently didn't bother her at all. His eyes stung from hot stray droplets of water as he gaped up at the figure above him. Instinctively he closed his legs, covering himself with a washcloth.

"Hello, Adrian."

"Hello… Trudy," he muttered back, his nausea all but completely forgotten.

"It won't be much longer," the ghost told him.

"I know," he muttered, voice barely audible, though a smile was not to be seen on his face.

"I can tell you don't want to go," she added.

"That's not true," he cried, voice breaking.

"Oh, Adrian; I can see when you're not telling me the whole truth. As I've said before, you're the world's greatest detective, and the world's worst liar."

"You know me better than I know me," he remarked with a weak smile, his face now deathly pale. "I'm afraid to die. I didn't think I would feel this way, Trudy. I thought being with you in the end would make it easier to stomach, but it's not helping…."

"That's because you are needed here. You have to fight for your life. She needs you, Adrian—and you need her too."

"Who needs me?"

Trudy only laughed gently.

"You may not have to sleep in the middle of the bed after all…. This is what I want for you—to be happy. Be happy, Adrian…."

The figure began to fade away, the soft voice of Trudy becoming drowned out by the shower water.

As the water continued to fall on his face, Adrian Monk could feel the sting of hot tears welling up in his eyes. Who was _she_, anyway?

* * *

"Mr. Monk?"

A loud knocking startled him for an instant and he flinched, staring at the shower curtain in the direction of the bathroom door.

"What? Natalie?" He grasped the edges of the tub with both hands, afraid she would burst through the door if he didn't reply quickly enough.

"Are you okay in there?" She had heard him talking indistinctly, but didn't dare mention that. If he wanted to explain himself he would.

"I'm fine."

"Almost done? You've been in there almost an hour."

He stood haltingly in the tub, careful not to slip. With his eyes focused towards the door and not downwards, he turned off the shower. Though he was suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn't shampooed his hair, he decided that it didn't matter. He'd wasted enough time already.

* * *

In ten minutes Adrian Monk left the bathroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, now wearing a different robe but with no pajama pants. The juice Natalie was drinking where she had been seated on his kitchen counter almost went down the wrong pipe at the sight of this sudden reduction in modesty in the form of his hairy yet slender legs.

"Feel cleaner?" she asked him, intrigued by this development.

"Yes."

"Feel better?" She jumped down from the counter and began to approach him, holding the cup of juice at her side as she sauntered towards him.

He nodded resolutely.

"It's actually interesting. I saw Trudy…."

"Yes?"

Natalie was smirking now, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously at him as she took a drink from the cup. He almost forgot to breathe for a moment at the sight of her approaching him and swallowed loudly, suddenly very aware of his instinctive physical response to her. It wasn't as if he hadn't reacted to her presence before in such a way, but he'd never thought to acknowledge when it happened. The way she moved towards him just now, her hips moving side to side, eyes glittering, it was as if she knew. Trudy had meant her; he was sure of it. She was the only woman in his life now. And she _had_ just revealed some rather heavy sentiments to him even though she wasn't really at liberty to divulge them. It all made sense now. Trudy said that she needed him and he needed her-- but he already knew that.

"Natalie…."

"Yes?" The smile was gone from her lips, though the glimmer in her eyes remained. He swallowed again, realizing he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Even though I don't have much time," he said, fumbling awkwardly with the belt of his fresh robe as he looked at her, his eyes earnest, "there's something I'd like to say."

* * *

**A/N: Ahh! So, what did you think? Are they in character? It's extremely important for me to stay on that line of believability (not sure if that's a real word)!! I hope you liked this installment! Please review! Each of your reviews was soo very helpful and wonderful for moving along this last chapter quickly, just as they will be in getting me to type another part of the story out for this next chapter! Thank you all again!!**


	4. The Other Man

**A/N: Thank you all so very much for all your helpful feedback! I hope you enjoy this next installment! I must warn you, however—Albright is a major focus of this chapter. I would like to publish another chapter tonight to make the icky Albright taste go away, so if you could be so kind and let me know what you think about this chapter, I can use your feedback in my quest to hopefully post another chapter in the next 9 hours or so!**

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"What is it, Mr. Monk?"

"I want to thank you," he said, his shoulder twitching, "for taking care of me all these years."

"You're welcome." She was crestfallen and she could not disguise the disappointment on her face.

"—and for loving me."

He watched her carefully as her eyes filled with tears, her mouth scrunching up as if about to cry. She covered her mouth with a hand as she stood before him, an oddly comforting awkwardness between them. Even so, seeing her cry again would be torture.

With that, he approached her in his robe, hands outstretched, a ghost of a smile on his face. As she met him in the hallway, she felt his arms wrap around her back, pulling her flush against his body. Was she about to begin crying again? She blinked back stubborn tears as she returned the hug, clutching him tightly to her.

There was a silence in which Natalie hoped he'd say a bit more, explaining his own feelings to her. She held her breath, moving her fingers on his warm back, feeling his flannel robe as it moved about on his freshly-showered skin. He certainly was built solidly—hardly the kind of feebleness expected of a dying person. Maybe he _could_ beat this, fight this off. She had not lied to him when she had read the facts on the medical websites. First though, he had to speak—or she'd pull her hair out.

"I guess I'm just old-fashioned," he began with a slow shake of his head, moving his face a couple of inches away so that he could look at her, "but I can't bring myself to hit on a taken woman, even if it _is_ you."

"Taken?" she asked, her voice suddenly airy. "Not by who you'd think."

He looked instantly confused, stuttering a bit before he spoke.

"Wait—does this mean that you and Lieutenant Albright are—"

"Done," she said with a swipe of her hand. "I mean it."

"Natalie, I can't expect you to drop your boyfriend when you and I are well-aware that I'm running out of time. I understand that you pity me, but—"

Her finger pressed against his lips, stopping him mid-sentence. Surprisingly he didn't flinch at the unexpected touch.

"Mr. Monk, I'd rather spend a couple of days with you and you only, than spend a lifetime with someone else."

His eyes flashed with surprise at her, mouth ever so slightly ajar. He was, for the most part, completely tongue-tied. Though he was most certainly blushing, his response was unfortunately not what she expected. She watched him carefully as his eyes nervously moved side to side, aimed down at Natalie's hip somewhere.

"What are you looking for?" she inquired.

"Your cell phone. Maybe you could just... well, you know…. I don't want that the last thing I ever do in this lifetime is to be the _other man_."

"Fine," she said, her lips tight. She removed her hands from his back and fished around in her pockets.

With a smile she snapped the cell phone open and pushed some speed dial number. As it rang, she held it up to Monk's ear to prove it to him.

"Hello, Steve."

A pause, as he replied.

"Oh, it's going pretty well. I think Mr. Monk is feeling a bit better, actually."

Another pause, followed by a smile from her. Monk flinched. This wasn't going well….

"When am I coming home?" she said, amusement in her voice. "What is this _home_ you're referring to?"

She crinkled her nose cutely while replying. Monk attempted to disguise the automatic frown that appeared on his face at her cutesy flirtations with the Navy medic. Was she going to end the relationship soon? If he had to wait any longer to finally speak the words, he was going to explode. There was a pause on the other end, and then Natalie's expression changed to that of confusion.

"Really. You're kidding. Did Julie let you in?"

Julie and Julie's boyfriend had driven to the Davenport home yesterday, but evidently she had returned to her house for something. Natalie immediately knew what she'd be doing after she got off the phone with Steve—calling her daughter.

A pause.

"But I told you I wouldn't be—"

Another pause, as he presumably interrupted her.

"Could you hold on for a second?"

She covered the receiver with her hand as she looked up at Monk, her face an odd shade of pinkish red.

"He's at my house!" she whispered, holding her hand firmly over the receiver.

"Really?" Adrian replied. Natalie put her free hand to her lip.

"Shh… What should I do? I can't very well break up with him while he's in my house. Julie's there!"

"I thought she was with your parents."

"She _was_. I don't know why she came back."

"Do you think he'd hurt her?" Adrian whispered.

"No… I just don't know how he'll react."

"I see," Adrian replied, his voice cracking, a kind of defeat in his eyes. She felt him touch her arm, his hand warm and surprisingly sweaty. "It's alright, Natalie. I don't blame you for changing your mind. He obviously wants to be with you, to move so quickly, and it's only natural for you to—"

Natalie didn't skip a beat.

"Steve," she said, holding the receiver again to her mouth, staring up at Monk all the while. "You're a great guy, but I just can't do this anymore. I'm really sorry."

He must have made a loud sound, because Natalie pulled the receiver away from her ear. When she spoke again she sounded a bit exasperated.

"Well, it's just—I've just been thinking about how short life really is and I don't want to dive into—"

She stopped at his presumable interruption. When she spoke again, spit flew out of her mouth. Albright must not have responded too favorably.

"It's just…it's all happening too fast," she explained, gesticulating with her free hand. "I've only been dating you for three weeks—I mean, you just met Julie yesterday! And you're already going to my house without first calling me to see if I'm even there—"

A long pause. Adrian watched Natalie's face as she listened to whatever he was saying on the other end. He stared at her as she blinked a couple of times and then hung up the phone without another word.

When she looked back up at Adrian she could tell he didn't know what to think.

"Well, that was easier than I thought," she muttered, glancing down at the phone. "A lot easier than I thought. I think I even heard the door shut behind him. I guess he left."

"I hope I didn't make you do something you're going to regret," Adrian mumbled, looking a bit ashamed of himself.

"What he did was _really_ creepy, Mr. Monk," she asserted. "If I had been calling him for any other reason, it still would have creeped me out that he was sitting in my house without me there. He _knew_ I wasn't going to be home—what would possess him to go over there and hang out? With my daughter, no less!"

"I don't know…."

"Really though, he was moving so quickly it scared me," Natalie admitted. "When we were in the grocery store shopping for food to buy for yesterday's meal, he got us on the subject of living together—I just thought he was being flirty and I was flattered, really…. But now it's got me a bit freaked out. Don't you think it's—"

Suddenly her cell phone rang. She jumped in the air at the instant it rang, gaping down at it. Adrian flinched as well, suddenly looking like he could be sick.

Natalie pulled the phone out of her pocket and looked at the caller ID. She sighed audibly, clutching her chest.

"It's Julie."

Quickly she snapped the phone open, putting her daughter on speakerphone.

"Hey, Julie."

"_Hey Mom. How's Mr. Monk?_"

"He's doing okay, Julie." Suddenly she remembered that Julie was not supposed to be at her house—she was supposed to be with her grandparents. Her voice took on a worried tone. "How are you doing? Are you okay? Why did you leave your grandparents' house?"

"_It was the weirdest thing. I got a random phone call a couple of hours ago from a blocked number. It sounded sort of like Mr. Monk, but a bit weaker—I didn't know either way, but the guy said it was Mr. Monk. He said that I should go back home because he wanted me to be there for you after he… well, after he was gone_. _So I did. I almost drove over to Mr. Monk's house, but I didn't want to intrude—I guess I should have called you first._"

"Oh my God. Are you alright, Julie?"

"_I'm fine, Mom. Did Mr. Monk call me today?_"

"Hold on; let me ask him."

Monk merely shook his head solemnly, his jaw set. His eyes worriedly focused on the phone in Natalie's hand.

"No, that wasn't him."

"_Who could it have been then? It was really weird_."

"I don't know, Julie. Did you see anything strange when you got home? Were the doors still locked?"

"_Nothing was out of place. Everything was just as we left it_."

"When did Steve stop by?"

"_About an hour ago. He sounded surprised to know that you were at Mr. Monk's, and asked to sit down for a bit to wait for you to come back. Should I not have let him in?_"

"I told him I would be here until further notice; he _knew_ that I was with Mr. Monk!" Natalie cried, her mouth agape, eyes wide with surprise. After thinking for a couple of seconds, her eyes focused in the distance, she let out a scoff, shaking her head with disappointment. "Ugh, men. Selective hearing, I guess. No, you didn't do anything wrong by letting him in. Wait—did he do anything, Julie? Did he say anything?"

"_Not really. He left in a hurry though and didn't look happy after he talked to you on the phone. Did you break up with him or something?_"

"Yes, actually."

"_Really_." Julie's voice sounded surprised. "_Why._"

"He's just moving too fast for my liking. His inviting himself into my house was the icing on the cake."

"_Well, that was a pretty quick decision, Mom. He didn't seem like a bad guy._ _He just sat in the living room, really, and talked to me. Was talking about how he was up for a promotion in the Navy—to Lieutenant Commander—Dad's rank._"

"Oh," Natalie said, her eyes widening. "Does he think he's going to get it?"

"_He said he was hoping for it. He wanted to see what Dad's uniform looked like, something about the insignia. He sounded really excited. He talked a lot about Dad. It was kind of neat hearing about what Dad did back in the day._"

"What kinds of things did he say?"

"_Oh, just stuff about what Dad did in training camp, pranks and stuff. A little bit about when Dad was in Kosovo—he said that one time, Dad shot two enemy aircraft down with one missile—crazy, isn't it? He asked me if I'd ever heard the stories, but I haven't. Is that true that Dad did that?_"

"I've not heard that one either… Mitch wasn't much of a bragger," Natalie admitted. "That's really awesome though, isn't it? See; your dad was a decorated fighter pilot for a reason."

It sounded odd to Natalie to hear about Mitch's best friend, a submarine man, talking about Mitch's days in Kosovo. Even so, it wasn't difficult to believe that Mitch had mailed letters to more than just his family. Steve Albright was his best friend, so it made perfect sense.

"_I couldn't find Dad's uniform for him to look at, though. I thought you kept his dress uniform in the closet wrapped in plastic, but it wasn't there. Did you move it?_"

Monk and Natalie exchanged a quick glance. She had given it to him when he was on the lam for allegedly murdering Frank Nunn. They both remained silent.

"What did you tell him I did with it?"

"_I just said you must've gotten rid of it—probably the Salvation Army or something. He helped me look for it but we couldn't find it anywhere. Why did you get rid of it, Mom? I could have taken it…._"

"Why was he so desperate to see it?" Natalie asked, her voice taking on a suspicious tone.

"_I dunno. He said he just wanted to admire it. Like I said, he _really _wants that promotion_."

"Hold on for a second, Honey."

For the second time that day, Natalie put her hand over the receiver.

"Do you still have the uniform, Mr. Monk?"

"Of course, Natalie. Do you think I'd just throw something like that away?"

"No, but I don't want to tell her I still have it if I don't. Are you sure you still have it?"

"Yes. I'll show you."

Natalie promptly removed her hand from the receiver, smiling over at Monk. He smiled back at her, glad he had brought it back with him after his days as a fugitive were over.

"I still have it, Julie."

"_Where is it?_"

"At Mr. Monk's house."

"_Why?_"

"I let him borrow it for a little while."

"_Why? That's weird._"

"No, it's really not. He had to have something to wear at one point, and it's the only men's clothing I had."

"_That was really nice of you, Mom. By the way," _she said, her voice lowering,_ "is Mr. Monk with you right now?_"

Natalie glanced over at Monk, watching him stick his lower lip out and shake his head, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"No, Honey," Natalie said with a smirk. "What is it?"

"_Did you break up with Mr. Albright because of Mr. Monk?_" the girl whispered.

Natalie looked back at Adrian, a big smile on her face.

"Yes, I did."

"_Finally,_" Julie said, exhaling with relief. "_Geez, it took you long enough!_" Her voice fell in volume as she spoke again, Natalie and Monk having to strain to hear her. "_Although, I mean, what are you gonna do now that he's—well, now that he's—_"

"He's going to make it, Julie. I just know it."

"_How can you be sure?_"

Natalie turned to Monk, giving him a big toothy smile, her eyes positively sparkling.

"I have faith in him."

It was then that she noticed that Monk was getting pale again, the sheen of sweat shining on his brow. Her smile faded to a look of concern, and she was suddenly feeling the need to get off the phone.

"Well, I'll call you later, Julie. Why don't you drive back to my parents' house now? Is Tim with you?"

Natalie listened to Julie's footsteps on the other line as her daughter moved about the house. Monk had slowly wandered off to his bedroom, looking much older than his fifty years.

"_I dropped him off at his house. I figured if I had to run over to Mr. Monk's place, he wouldn't want to impose—_"

"Well, call him back up and pick him up. I'm still thinking about that weird call and I think it's better you stay away from our house—you have to be very careful. Give me a call when you get back to Grandma and Grandpa's, okay?"

"_Let me just put away what Mr. Albright was snacking on first, and then I'll head out_," Julie muttered on the other end of the line. "_Egh; I still can't believe he ate asparagus without warming it up first_." The sound of the refrigerator door closing followed. "_I'll call you later, Mom. Say hello to Mr. Monk for me, and for him to get well soon_."

"Bye, Julie. I love you," Natalie said. Her voice was oddly hollow, her stare unblinking.

"_Love you, Mom—you and Mr. Monk; how cool! Talk to you later_!"

A thought suddenly occurred to Natalie, a thought strong enough to make her forget to breathe for several silent seconds.

* * *

**A/N: So, what did you think? I'd really like to post two chapters tonight, a task made much easier by your honest and forthright feedback! I also have another question: Should I address the Trudy gift/tape? If I did address it, I will be making a completely off the cuff, uninformed guess about what it says, so there'll be absolutely NO SPOILERS for the upcoming part II episode (I don't even know what's going to happen and have been avoiding all mention of spoilers!). (Of course, I can't guarantee that what I guess isn't what actually happens, though I doubt it). **

**Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, and what you think about having a little bit of "Mr. Monk and the End Part 1" insertion in the form of Trudy's present and the beginning of the tape. Pretty please! I really hope to write up another chapter tonight and post it, but whether I'm able to do it is ultimately up to you! Thank you all so much!**


	5. The Big N

**A/N: Thank you for your rapid and helpful feedback! So far the votes explicitly telling in one way or another for me to post quickly (2), do either (1), or wait (1) is neck and neck! I'd like there to be more of a majority before I post the next chapter! And of course, I'd really appreciate your feedback for giving me incentive to write it in the first place! Also, I'm really relieved to know that Monk is now more in character! I plan on keeping him there at all costs, so let me know if he strays!!**

**In this chapter you'll see two scenes reminiscent of those on Mr. Monk and the End part 1, namely, when Monk requests to open the gift and the first couple of seconds of Trudy's revelation that was in that episode. I decided to stop it here and get more votes on what you all would like me to do – go ahead and guess/etc or wait and keep it less AU. Please let me know either way, because every vote counts!**

**And now, for chapter 5!**

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Natalie closed the phone, staring at something undefined on Monk's hallway wall. She heard the sound of Monk's footsteps and looked up at him, an odd stare of confusion still on her face. He was smiling weakly, carrying a shiny white garment bag presumably containing Mitch's dress uniform. At the sight of her face his smile disappeared, replaced with a look of concern.

"What is it, Natalie?"

He moved towards her in a pained shuffle, gripping the hanger of the garment bag with a sweaty hand. He couldn't help but hold his back in an odd hunch, as if he had just been punched in the stomach. It was his stomach, churning and burbling in alarming ways that threatened to end his way of life, his way of _walking_, even.

Monk watched Natalie worriedly, confused as to why she was staring off into space. It wasn't like her to do something like that, and it greatly bothered him. At the same time, a wave of nausea swept over him, reminding him of his mortality. Natalie finally spoke, still staring at nothing in particular.

"In the grocery store, Steve said in more or less words that he couldn't live with a woman who bought asparagus. But then he ate it for a snack today at my house."

It was then that she glanced up at Monk at the sound of chattering teeth. He had crossed his free arm, tucking his hand up into the sleeve of his robe. She hastily took the garment bag from him, watching him do the same with his newly liberated hand.

"Are you cold, Mr. Monk?"

"Must be a little drafty in here," he asserted, glancing around his feet. "It'll pass, I think. But the asparagus—maybe that was just a line he thought up to get you on the subject. Guess he's pretty smooth, eh?"

"Too smooth for me," she muttered, moving closer to Adrian. "I like my man rougher."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Mr. Monk. Rough like you."

"Ha, ha," he weakly chuckled. "Me, _rough_. You're pretty funny; you know that?"

She watched his teeth chatter as he spoke and was struck with fear.

"I think you need to sit down," she said insistently. "You don't look very well."

"I don't feel very well," he explained. "I think this is it. The big N."

"The big N? What's that?"

He removed a hand from the sleeve of his robe and shook it around in front of his stomach.

"Nausea?"

A quick nod from the now eerily greenish-tinged face as he put his closed fist to his mouth and then lowered it.

"Let me walk you to the living room," she offered, taking him by the arm. He kept his free arm bent at the elbow, his hand clutching his stomach. As he slowly took a step towards the living room, it seemed he was bending over more and more. After he had reached the threshold he appeared to be more desperate to sit down. Without warning he collapsed on his armchair, his head swimming, and immediately shut his eyes. Natalie felt a wave of disappointment at the fact that she'd never know how exactly Adrian Monk felt about her. Would he even get a chance to tell her?

"Are you okay, Mr. Monk?" she asked, her expression that of pure concern. She laid the garment bag across the cushions of his couch and quickly returned to his side. "Do you need something?"

Painstakingly opening his eyes, he gazed up at her, his face looking utterly pitiful. The look he gave her was truly heartbreaking, a closed fist held in front of his mouth.

"Maybe you could get me—a garbage pail…" He stopped himself, tightly shutting his eyes, the tendons in his neck jutting out as he swallowed audibly. "No, just a bucket…. Wait, even better—a bucket of bleach."

So he was going to do it. A tidal wave of sympathy washed over her at the thought—nobody like to get sick in that way, and Adrian Monk, the poor sweet emetophobic, had to go through this. Natalie took a deep breath and moved quickly to the kitchen, pulling out one of the four buckets he used to scrub floors, walls, surfaces—well, essentially everything. With a grimace she pulled out a gallon of bleach and proceeded to fill the bucket roughly a quarter of the way.

In less than a minute she returned with the bucket. Rather than take it from her hands, he weakly pointed towards the ground, holding his robe about him for warmth. He was too sick to even notice her poor measurement skills. The thought was terrifying to her.

"I can adjust the thermostat—" she offered.

"Too expensive," he muttered. "Besides, it's an even 70 right now."

"How about a blanket then? That'll definitely make you feel better."

He was too weak to answer. He merely nodded at her, his eyes full of sadness, full of fear. Suddenly he let out a bone-jarring cough, a cough that shook his entire body. She almost dropped the blanket she had been carrying at the loud sound. It wasn't like Monk to cough like that. Well, it wasn't like Monk to even consider the possibility that he might vomit. She felt terrible for him.

"Wipe, wipe," he said, staring in horror at the hand he had just coughed into.

"You went through them all, Mr. Monk. Let me get you a paper towel."

He glanced up at her briefly with fearful eyes before she scurried off to the kitchen. She returned in an instant with two wads of paper towel, one damp and one dry.

He took the damp paper towel without de-wrinkling it first, and began to wipe his hand off. She gasped, watching him then take the balled-up dry paper towel and dry his hand, giving them back to her after he was done. Suddenly he reached down and touched the edge of the bucket, but changed his mind and looked back at her, his face totally serious.

"If it looks like I'm going to… well, you know…." He moved a hand outward from in front of his mouth to indicate the meaning. "Please, kill me before I start."

"Mr. Monk!" she cried, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, "Now, that's just crazy talk."

"Seriously, Natalie; it's my new number one phobia. Emesis is my nemesis."

"Over death?"

"Death is number two. I just—I can't do _that_, Natalie. You know why I never drank in college?"

"No."

"Because of the possibility of _that_." He stopped speaking for a moment, letting out another loud cough.

"You know why I spent every Christmas vacation watching everyone in my neighborhood eating raw cookie dough—and never tasting a single piece myself? That. _That_ should have always been number one on my list of phobias. I've had the wrong priorities all along." She watched him shiver beneath the blankets, his teeth chattering. "It's so horrible, I can't even say the word for it."

With a sigh, Natalie moved to the front of him, taking a seat on his ottoman.

"I think you should go to the hospital," she told him.

"No." His face was adamant. "I want to stay here…."

"Okay; we can stay here then. Is the blanket helping any?"

"Only if you can shove it as far as possible down my throat," he muttered, rocking back and forth as he clutched his stomach. His expression was that of utter agony. "Oh, God. Why me?"

"I don't know, Mr. Monk, but you have to stay strong. I'm here for you and I'm not going anywhere."

She placed her hand on his, fearful at how clammy the top of his hand felt. He glanced down at it, then back at her.

"Thank you for being so good to me," he suddenly blurted, his words spoken as he exhaled forcefully.

"The pleasure is all mine."

"Thank you for everything, Natalie." She could see his eyes welling up with tears, his voice scratchy and weakening by the second. "I'm going to miss you so much…."

Though his words saddened her, they also alarmed her. She immediately wanted there to be a bevy of doctors on call, to save him from this fate. _Why him; why now_, now that she finally had been able to reveal to him her innermost feelings—the beginnings of a new life for them?!

"Please let me call a doctor, Mr. Monk."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry I couldn't live a little bit longer, to make your breakup more worthwhile." His eyes were liquid brown, an overwhelming sadness in them, much like that of Bassett Hound eyes. "If I start….you know—well, you know where the fire extinguisher is. It should be heavy enough for one good hit."

"Please don't give up on me," Natalie cried. "I need you."

Now she was going to cry. She didn't try to stop them from spilling out of her eyes, watching a blurry new view of Monk through the layer of tears. She shut her eyes, sobbing as she dropped her head.

Suddenly she felt fingers brush across her cheek as gently as the touch of a feather. Sniffling, she looked up at Monk to see that he was smiling at her, the unexpected expression barely masking the underlying discomfort of nausea.

His hand resting on her thigh now, he gazed into her eyes for what seemed like forever, a brave smile still on his lips.

"I need you more."

Instinctively she leaned her head towards Monk, placing her hand on top of his hand, the hand he had laid on her thigh, and rubbing her hand along his arm soothingly. He leaned forward as well on the armchair, shifting his weight to accommodate the change in his center of gravity. Just before their faces could unite, his free hand shot up to his mouth, barely stifling a cough. Sighing, he angled his head downwards, touching Natalie's forehead with his own. They leaned against each other silently in the dim light, Natalie continuing to gently rub his arm.

Eventually he lifted his head back up, face only inches from her own. She could feel him breathing on her and was overcome with emotion. She let out a little cry, her eyes tearing up as she looked into his deep brown eyes, noticing that just like hers, their borders were swollen and red from crying.

"Shhh," he murmured, barely above a whisper. "I wish I could tell you all you need to hear, but it would take me a lifetime, a lifetime I'd be glad to spend, to tell you everything—"

He looked shocked for an instant and his hand shot up to his face, eyes shutting tightly as he moved away from her, a coughing spell coming on.

Natalie watched his entire body shaking as sweat streamed down his face. The paleness of his face set against the blackness of his hair was terrifying. After the coughing jag finished, Monk looked around as if disoriented.

"Are you alright?"

"No…." It was apparent that he had decided something important. "I think it's time, Natalie," he declared, his weak voice betraying the confidence of his statement. "Where's Trudy's present?" His words came out a dull scratchy monotone, and it was clear that he was feeling nauseous, as mightily as he tried to hide it.

"Trudy's—you mean, the box?"

He nodded weakly at her.

"No, Mr. Monk." Tears unabashedly streamed down her face. "No, you can't."

"It's time, Natalie. I need to know."

"Please. Don't do this."

"Natalie, just—do this for me. I have to know. Please."

Her body racked with sobs, she stood up and went to the cabinet, pulling out the square box wrapped in shiny green packaging. She handed it to Monk, who fumbled with the bow before pulling it off, ripping the wrapping down to expose a cream-colored box. She held her breath as he opened the lid, gazing down into the long-unopened gift.

His hand reached into the box, pulling out what looked to be… a tape. She recognized the format and immediately sought out the shell for it that would enable it to be played on a VCR. Within a couple of minutes, she wheeled Monk's television set out and inserted the tape in its casing, pushing it into the VCR. All the while, Monk stood unsteadily and moved to sit on the couch, pushing the uniform aside as he did so.

As the tape began, Natalie scurried back to the couch, further shifting Mitch's uniform to the side. They stared in wonder as they saw, sitting down in a chair in Monk's home—Trudy.

"_Hello,_ _Adrian,"_ she said, looking as beautiful as ever, though troubled. Monk attempted to smile between stubborn bouts of nausea. It was as if Trudy was alive again, if only on tape. As chills ran up Monk's spine, Trudy continued to speak on the video tape. "_If you're watching this, it means I'm dead_," Trudy said, her voice calm and collected. Monk couldn't help but cover his mouth with a closed fist, his eyes watering. "_I know we said we'd never have any secrets, but there's something I never told you_," she explained. "_Something happened. Something terrible… Years ago, before we met…."_

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**A/N: Thank you guys so much for your continued interest and your extremely helpful feedback! The next chapter, IF I post it before Friday (most likely tomorrow), will have my rendition of what Trudy's gift is all about—and so far the vote for my posting the next chapter (this next chapter will be Trudy-heavy and gift-centric) before Friday is 2 for my posting quickly, 1 alright with it either way, and 1 who wants me to wait until it's revealed on Friday. It's neck and neck and I'd like there to be a good majority preference before I decide.**

**The only thing I fear about waiting to post the next chapter is that if I'm feeling either extreme after Friday's episode, either intense happiness/joy or intense disappointment, I might lose the will to want to finish this. It's ultimately up to you guys. I think I could get out a couple more chapters before Friday if that's what you'd like to see. Please please let me know either way, so I have the incentive to keep on writing as well as the preference for when you'd like to see the next chapter! Thanks again, everyone!!**


	6. Trudy's Gift

**A/N: So the votes are in and it seems the majority would like me to post quickly—which automatically makes me have to speculate on what Trudy said. Hopefully it's not a letdown. Thank you all so very very dearly for being so responsive and enthusiastic about this story! Please let me know what you think of this Trudy-centric chapter… I'll be eternally grateful!!! I really appreciate and take into account the feedback I've been receiving, which has already enabled me to shift Monk into character better. Don't hesitate to let me know what you like/dislike! And now, to chapter 6, and my continuance to the Trudy tape!**

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Natalie was so fixed on the screen that she hadn't noticed Monk sliding off the couch and onto his knees, reaching for the vision of his wife on the screen.

"_It has to do with Wendy Stroh, the midwife who disappeared_."

Monk inhaled deeply, unable to say a word, taking in every syllable of the voice he hadn't heard for twelve years now—save for in his dreams. He hadn't forgotten the midwife case, a case which was still unsolved.

"_I don't know if you remember her, but she went to Berkeley for a year,_" Trudy explained. "_She was my roommate sophomore year. You and I met junior year, so you probably don't remember her. We had been keeping in touch up until the day she disappeared. She was murdered, Adrian—by the same person who murdered me._"

"Oh, God," he murmured. "All this time…."

"_Now before I say his name, here's what happened—to borrow your famous line. It was a long time ago, my sophomore year at Berkeley, and I was leaving class with Wendy in the evening, after it had gotten dark. We heard a sound coming from the bushes, like someone crying, so we went to investigate. It was a girl—a bloodied, battered pregnant girl. Later I found out that she was a freshman at Berkeley._

"_She was barely alive when we found her Adrian, and was in labor. She asked us to help her—to please save her baby. We had no time to get the police or ambulance to come—she was losing a lot of blood and was in a lot of pain. As you know, I'm not very good with handling blood, but Wendy didn't waste a minute—she got right down there on the ground and helped deliver the baby—a little girl. We asked her to tell us who did this to her, who hurt her. She was only able to say, "the baby's father," before she died. We called the police, but they had nothing to go on. They did genetic tests on the baby to try to figure out who the father was, but that was next to impossible in those days. _

"_The girl's murder was never solved and the baby was put up for adoption. I became a reporter and Wendy became a midwife—the pregnant girl was the reason she was able to discover her true calling. A couple of years after it happened, Wendy brought it up to me that I should write an article on that day—on what happened, to reignite the case. So I did." _

"Why don't you sit back up here next to me on the couch, Mr. Monk?" Natalie offered, patting the seat helpfully.

"Shh, Natalie," Monk replied, eyes still glued to the screen. "I don't want to miss anything."

"You look uncomfortable. You don't even have to look away from the screen; just stand up a little and take a step back."

It was better to just do it than to miss any of Trudy's words from Natalie persistently insisting upon him getting off the floor. Sighing, he stood shakily to his feet, falling back onto the touch without his eyes leaving the screen for a split-second.

"_Only hours after the article made it to press, I received a call from someone who claimed to know the girl, to know the man who killed her, the father of her child. He told me the man's name—and said he had physical proof to link the man to the murder, but that he'd have to get back to me once he was in a safer location before he could tell me the nature of what he'd found. Even so, he wouldn't tell me his own name, because he said his life would be in danger if he did so. I promised him that I'd never reveal it to anyone ever, and so he eventually told me his name, telling me he'd get back to me in a week. That was the last time I spoke to him._

"_A couple of days later, I saw my source's name in the obituaries—they said he'd hanged himself but I knew better. The killer must've learned of his plan to disclose the evidence. I knew that the man who'd murdered the pregnant girl had murdered my source. I told the police as well as Wendy all that I knew including the killer's name. The police told me I had no case, saying that they found no physical evidence that the source was even murdered._

"_I received a frantic call from Wendy at work shortly after the murder of my source. She told me that she had received a threat on her and her husband's lives, and begged me to drop my investigation into the cold case or I'd be in the same situation. She begged me, Adrian… I couldn't bear the thought of losing you, so I let it go for a time."_

Natalie glanced over at Monk to see a tear running down his face.

All the while he held his hand to his mouth, staring unblinkingly at the television screen. His eyes were red and glassy, the television reflecting off of the layer of tears that had involuntarily built up in his lower eyelid.

"_Just lately Wendy called me back up, telling me she had written all the information about the baby, the mother, and the identity of the father in her birthing center book. She said the guilt was eating at her and that she'd been attempting to find out where the baby was placed. She had a lead, she said, because she'd been talking to police again about the case. She said she was writing down what she'd found in the record books. I warned her to be careful._

"_In the next call I received from her about a week ago, she sounded really upset, and begged me to meet up with her tomorrow morning at 9 in the parking garage at the corner of Geraldi and Summerset, level B5. She was very specific. She said she knew the identity of the baby, and that it was better if we both had the information in our hands. I figured she'd bring me a copy of the written records she had made, but she didn't mention it at the time. _

"_I know that the police had her listed as missing for a couple of days by then, but I had plans to meet with her. I figured her to be laying low before our meeting, and so I haven't told anyone else of our plan to meet—just in case the killer could find out like he did with my source._

"_I told her I would meet her, and so tomorrow I'm going to the parking garage, Adrian. The more I think about it, the more worried I am, so I decided to make this tape in case I don't come home. She gave no indication to me that it was a setup, never called me back to change anything—but if you're watching this now, that means it was a setup. I know Wendy wouldn't double-cross me, Adrian. If I'm dead, she's dead too. The killer must have gotten to her, must have intercepted her plans, to wipe out the only two living witnesses of his crimes._

"_The name of the man who killed me is Ethan Rickover. If that sounds familiar, it is. He's a judge in our county. A judge who murdered several people to cover up for an unplanned pregnancy with a minor early in his career. Please don't go seeking retribution, Adrian; I mean it. I don't want you to spend your life in prison. Just put that murderer behind bars for good so that he can't hurt anyone else. Do that for me, darling. I don't know what the physical proof is to link him undisputedly to any or all of the murders—but if anyone is able to figure it out, it'll be you, Adrian. I have faith in you."_

Trudy's eyes were now tearing up a bit on the screen, and she wiped them before continuing to speak. Natalie saw out of the corner of her eye Monk leaning forwards on the couch, his eyes locked on the screen.

"_I'm so sorry, Adrian. I wish that I had told you sooner." _She wrung her hands as she spoke, her head bobbing up and down with shame. _"I just wanted to protect you. I hope this tape gives you the closure you're looking for, so that you can move on with your life and find love again. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me… It was a terrible mistake to keep this from you." _She sighed a deep sigh, leaning towards the camera, the glimmer of a tear running down her cheek._ "I love you so much, Adrian. I'm so sorry."_

With that, Trudy stood up and moved to the camera, switching it off.

Natalie glanced nervously over at Monk, who had not said a word in several minutes. His entire body was trembling. When she put a hand on his back, she could feel him shaking more and more, his breathing quickening.

"Ethan Rickover," he spat, continuing to shake. "Ethan Rickover killed Trudy—he killed my wife."

"Mr. Monk," Natalie interjected. "What are you—"

With a start, Monk stood up, fists clenched at his sides.

"And now he's poisoned me."

"What? No, it was Joey Kazarinski; I _saw_ him at the store—"

"He was working for Ethan Rickover," Monk explained, gesticulating for emphasis. He had snapped out of his trance but was still shaking, most likely from a surge of adrenaline. "The records at the birthing center, Natalie. Dr. Nash probably called him up upon seeing that he was the father of a murdered teenager's child. To stop Dr. Nash from bringing any suspicions to the police, Rickover had Kazarinski kill the doctor and destroy the records."

So there's no written proof anymore of the baby's birth—"

"Not exactly," he interjected, holding up a finger for emphasis.

"What do you mean?"

"Being as the midwife didn't record the birth information until years later, it'll be out of order in the record book. I'll bet Kazarinski wasn't able to find it, being as it wasn't listed under the correct date, and so he gave up and deleted the file from the computer only, which he could search much quicker."

"Well, why didn't he take the record book anyway? It'd be gone on both accounts and there'd be nothing left."

"If he'd taken the record book, the police would know to look at the birth records on the computer and would know a record had been deleted. They might even be able to restore it, being as it just happened."

Natalie began to think about the meaning behind what Monk was saying.

"So by him leaving the book behind and leaving those pill bottles scattered everywhere," she postulated, "he tried to throw them off course so that they'd have no idea what to look for."

"Until now," he said, his face resolute like stone.

"I guess there is an advantage to being disorganized then," Natalie replied, standing up quickly and flashing him a ghost of a smile.

"I guess so."

Natalie couldn't help but look Monk up and down. His posture was completely improved, and his eyelids no longer hung low over his eyes. The exhaustion, the despair, had instantly evaporated.

"What are you thinking?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"I'm thinking someone is going to die today," he stated resolutely, "and it's not going to be me."

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**A/N: So we know what Adrian Monk is thinking… But what are YOU thinking? I really have appreciated all your helpful and thoughtful reviews and they really push this story forward with that much more fervor. Please let me know what you thought about this installment. Was it believable/hasty/fitting/etc? Your feedback helps me hone my writing skills that much more!**


	7. Insignia

**A/N: Hello, everyone! Big important point here: I mentioned the Judge's name in the last chapter to be "Jack Spangler," unaware that the Judge in the End Part 1 episode had the name Ethan Rickover (it's not listed on imdb and so I figured he'd been only referred to as the Judge). I corrected the name in the last chapter and have it consistent with Ethan Rickover in this new chapter, so I hope you don't get confused. **

**So basically, "Jack Spangler" = the Judge = Ethan Rickover**

**Please let me know what you think of this next chapter! You guys' perceptive and helpful feedback has helped me push out this story in RECORD time and for that I'm very grateful. And now, for chapter 7!**

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Natalie had never known Monk to be so fast. In less than ten minutes he had changed out of his robe, wiped the perspiration off his face, and looked fresh and ready to go in a crisp brown suit. It was as if nothing had changed.

"You have quite a new spring in your step, Mr. Monk," she commented as he emerged from the bathroom. "It's like you're a new man."

"It isn't that, Natalie," he explained. "I think it's just instinct kicking in, suppressing all the nausea and death until I kill the man who murdered my wife."

She moved to him, giving a little squeeze to his forearm. He flinched at the touch, his face determined, jaw clenched. He looked positively murderous, but she wasn't about to tell him that.

"Mr. Monk, you don't mean that—"

"Oh, yes I do, Natalie," he said turning to her, his expression alarmingly sinister. "With every fiber of my being."

She turned her head away from him and nervously rolled her eyes. Monk was just not capable of murder, she reasoned, no matter how fervently he desired revenge. Yet, this was not just anyone; this was _the_ man behind Trudy Monk's death, the man with a motive. He wasn't merely some guy hired to make a bomb or plant a bomb; he was the man who had wanted Trudy dead—and he had accomplished his goal and more. Not only had Trudy died that day, but Monk had too, at least until Sharona entered his life.

As they walked into the living room, Monk happened to glance down at the dress uniform on the couch. Natalie noticed immediately his temporary shift in focus as he stood perfectly still, staring at the white garment bag on the couch. It was true that once it kicked in that Trudy knew of her doom ahead of time (and that he'd failed to see it), that he now knew the last secret kept between him and his wife, that the key to her case was sitting on his mantel all along, he'd probably go crazy with rage or despair or whatever else. She decided to mention the uniform before they headed out, being as Monk was reasonably calm for the time being.

"I wonder why Steve was so interested in looking at Mitch's uniform," she said, moving to Monk's side, indicating the garment back with a movement of her arm. "Did you notice anything weird about it?"

"I did notice that it fit me perfectly—aside from the inseam. Is that weird?"

"No… But, was there anything else, any kind of strange insignia you remember?"

She knew that he was anxious to get going and didn't want him to lose time with petty things, so she tried to keep it light, as much as Albright's odd interest in her husband's uniform irked her.

"I don't think so…." he replied, after thinking for a moment or two. "Do you want to take a look at it before we go?"

"Well, I know that you—"

"This won't take a second," he replied curtly, gingerly touching her arm, his features greatly softened. "You need closure too."

"Ha, closure," she said with a scoff. "I'm not holding my breath. As far as I know, the entire U.S. Navy thinks Mitch is a deserter," she muttered, a heavy bitterness in her voice. "They probably don't even mind that the enemies took him out, being as they believe him to be a coward."

"You know better than that," he murmured. "Let's just see if we can find anything unusual about it."

Suddenly Natalie beamed at her boss, rendering him instantly confused. She began to explain her reasoning for the impromptu smile.

"You know, Mr. Monk; you seem really composed about this whole thing—after that heartbreaking videotape of Trudy," she said, patting him on the back. "I'm really proud of you."

"Don't be," he spat, his shoulder twitching. "It just hasn't sunk in completely yet, I think. When it gets there, you'll know."

Monk moved to the garment bag, grabbing the hanger and holding it suspended in the air as Natalie unzipped the bag, exposing the crisp black garment.

Feverishly she pulled the jacket off of the hanger, digging around in the pockets, squeezing the fabric at the seams to feel for any hidden items. She ran her fingers over the three gold bands and the small gold star on the sleeves, signifying the rank of Lieutenant Commander. An unsuccessful dig with her fingernails informed her that the insignia were stitched into the garment and weren't coming off anytime soon. She did happen to notice that Mitch's multicolored array of service awards and his name badge were no longer present on the breast pockets.

As Monk watched her working quickly, she threw the jacket down onto his couch and grabbed the pants, fishing in the pockets and examining the cuffs.

"Nothing," she said disappointedly, tossing the pants down. "I don't get why Steve wanted to see it so badly. Was he being honest when he said he just wanted to look at the insignia? There's not a thing in the pockets. And the medals are gone too; I know there were medals on this jacket."

"There was something in the inside jacket pocket when I wore it, and there were pins on the jacket," Monk recalled.

"Oh, God," she moaned, checking said pocket again. "Where did it go?" Suddenly she realized why it was so impossibly clean, so very stiff and perfect. She glanced at Adrian out of the corner of her eye. "Wait—did you wash the uniform?—please tell me you didn—"

"I had it dry-cleaned," he replied with a shrug.

She slapped her forehead, a look of pain on her face.

"It's destroyed then. Did you get a look at what was in the pocket?"

"Nah. I didn't want to snoop around. Besides, the pockets were full of dust bunnies…."

"Right," she replied, obviously disgusted. "Well, can you guess what it may have been?"

"Felt like paper to me, a flimsy envelope folded in half."

"I wonder what it said…."

"You can just read it, Natalie."

She frowned at him, throwing her hands up in despair.

"How can I? It's gone, destroyed!"

"No it's not," he insisted. "The dry-cleaners take all that sort of stuff out _before_ they clean the clothes. I guess I should have you do more of my dry-cleaning to get you more familiar with the process." He flashed her a poor attempt at a smile, the determination of his features overshadowing the small grin. He reached into the bottom of the garment bag, pulling out a manila envelope. Natalie grabbed it from him hungrily, reaching past the distinct feel of Mitch's plastic name tag and award bars to pull out the very thing Monk had described, an envelope folded in half.

Flashing Monk a look of anticipation, she carefully unfolded the envelope, an envelope addressed to her husband. There was no return address and no stamp. A large red CONFIDENTIAL stamp and two other red stamps with the words SEKRET and KLASIFKOJ had been pressed onto the flap, which had been sealed with a red seal.

Frowning, she lifted the flap of the envelope, having been previously opened, and pulled out a yellowed letter.

_2/2/1998_

_Teeger,_

_Had to get a hold of you somehow. I know you're getting ready to return to the states. I intended for this letter to reach you at the award ceremony and I hope to God you're still around to receive it. There was an ambush; two of us ran. We returned later, but they were all killed, the entire squadron. We're going to die out here, Teeger—currently on the Kosovo-Albanian border. Could really use you right now. Heard you shot down two enemy planes with one missile—maybe you could rescue both of us in one mission. __We figure with your decoration you'd be able to play with that F-117 any time you like. __My coordinates are __41°21'N, 19°4'E. Will remain here as long as possible. If you get a chance to fly our way could you do a guy a favor. I'm not a deserter. Just made a bad decision at the wrong time and now I'm paying for it. Hate to put the burden on you, but you're the only one I can trust. Had to send this through the Albanians. They're allies, right? Just kidding. Well, see you if I see you. Godspeed, Teeger. _

_A_

Natalie's jaw dropped as she finished reading the letter. The letter was dated a mere month before she was informed that Mitch was MIA. Did this have something to do with Mitch's crash? Did Mitch jump back on a plane in a secret mission to save his deserter friend—and get shot down while doing so?

The letter was vague as to the sender of the message—understandably enough, as it was a confession of desertion. Did the A stand for _Albright_, by any chance? Albright was a Navy medic, a career in which he could float around to different locations. Was Albright in Kosovo at some point? It was hard to picture him away from a submarine, but the fact remained that it had been almost a decade since her husband's death, and he could have easily been assigned elsewhere back in 1998.

She handed the letter to Adrian, who proceeded to read it through, his eyebrows knitted with concentration. As she scanned it quickly with his eyes, she shook her head, finally getting the voice to speak after the shock.

Finally it dawned on her. Albright had mentioned to Julie the fact that Mitch had shot two enemy aircraft down with one missile, and asked her if she'd heard the story. Oh God. This _was_ Albright's letter, and his own inquiries to her daughter proved it. He was merely fishing for information in his talk with Julie, figuring that if Natalie had found the letter at some point, she would have been proud to tell her daughter about Mitch's accomplishment. He'd mentioned in the letter that Mitch would be receiving the letter at an awards ceremony, so she surmised that Steve figured if it still existed it'd be in the dress uniform he'd be wearing at the ceremony.

Natalie suddenly felt a headache coming on. So Mitch was not a deserter; he was actually getting ready to _leave_ the Middle East and that bastard Albright had to call him back into Kosovo on a secret mission!

"That's Steve's letter—" she said to Monk, who looked up with a solemn nod of agreement. She had more to understand, however. "What I don't get is why, after all these years, did he suddenly get interested in tracking the letter down? He had all that time and didn't do anything until I contacted him first. I don't get it," she admitted with a sigh.

"He's up for a promotion now, though, isn't he?" Monk replied. "The Navy probably has a big blank on him for the length of time that he was gone and is now beginning to ask questions."

"But—didn't he trust that Mitch would burn the letter after reading it and getting what information he needed? Why would he suddenly assume Mitch kept it?"

Monk looked thoughtful for a moment, his finger against his chin. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"Wait—didn't it say in the letter that there was another guy, another deserter?"

"Yes…." She craned her neck to look over his shoulder as he re-checked the document, assuring herself of the phrase _two of us ran_. It was definitely there.

"I know why he did it," Monk murmured, an inappropriate grin of triumph on his face as he spoke. "The other deserter guy got dishonorably discharged at some point for one reason or another—maybe even _for_ the desertion," Monk speculated. "Back then there would have been no advantage for the guy to call Albright out on _his _desertion, being as he was just another lowly Navyman. However, now that the Lieutenant's up for a big promotion, a job with clout and influence, he's probably trying to blackmail Lieutenant Albright into getting him back into the Navy—or at the very least, getting his dishonorable discharge reversed. He was just waiting for the opportune moment to use that information."

"But why would Steve have to worry about that? It's just one man's word against another's."

"Yeah, but then your boyfriend remembered this," he said, holding up the letter with a grim smile on his face.

"Ex!" Natalie exclaimed.

"Right," Monk replied with a disarming smile. "_Ex_-boyfriend. Here's what happened: Lieutenant Albright wanted to be absolutely sure there'd be no physical evidence linking him to his desertion—which would ruin him, especially if it was related in any way to your husband's death—and so he took advantage of you in order to get to the letter. He wanted to look at the uniform, to steal the letter while you weren't around, and so my slow death made it pretty convenient for him to stop by when he knew you wouldn't be there…"

"Didn't I tell you not to say that word!?" she exclaimed. Suddenly it hit her. "Wait—are you saying that Steve had something to do with your—"

"No, Natalie," he reassured her, his mouth drawn into an amused smile. "Of course not. And even if he _was_ planning to do so, Kazarinski and Rickover got to me first."

He almost appeared to be winking at her. She frowned at Monk then, crossing her arms with a little scoff. Why did Adrian Monk always have to be right?

Tension hung in the air as thick as a cloud of fog.

"So now you know, Natalie. Mitch was not a deserter, and in fact, it was his best friend who was the deserter. I'll bet that something happened to Mitch while he was flying off-course to rescue them. All it would take is a simple phone call to the Navy to know for sure; I'll bet the GPS coordinates of the crash site were near the coordinates mentioned in the letter. Mitch probably didn't even receive that letter until a couple days before you heard that he was MIA—he probably flew straight out there after he received the letter. Your husband was a hero, Natalie."

"Oh my God," she exclaimed, clutching her reddened face. "What should I do?"

"I don't know. But until you decide for sure, can we go?" he asked earnestly, his voice strained. It was then that his sad brown eyes took on a distinctly more menacing appearance as he stared towards his picture window. "I have some _unfinished business_ to take care of."

"Of course, Mr. Monk."

They left the house quickly, Monk rapidly locking the door behind them and trotting down the hallway, his energy restored. She made her best attempts to keep up with him, finally reaching his side once she arrived at her car.

Just before she could tell him how impressed she was with his recovery, Monk spoke.

"I apologize for being in a hurry, Natalie, but this adrenaline rush will only last so long and then I'll be back to dying again."

He felt then a light slap to his forearm. Natalie scowled at him, though her eyes and shaking of her head showed disappointment.

"Uhh… right," he muttered, voice lower than before as he sheepishly opened the passenger door. "Sorry about that."

* * *

As soon as Monk and Natalie had fastened their seat belts, she turned to him.

"So—where to?"

"Ethan Rickover's house. I was just there, Natalie—he signed off on a warrant to track down Kazarinski. Oh God, I just spoke with my wife's murderer…. My murderer… and I didn't do anything! I just... stood there like an idiot, when I _should_ have been strangling him with my bare hands."

"You'll get your chance to confront him," she said reassuringly. "Should we call the captain; tell him what we know?"

"No," he said. "This is between me and Rickover." A smug expression on his face, he patted his hip.

"What'd you do that for?"

With a grim smile, Monk lifted his blazer, revealing to her the handgun at his hip, polished to perfection.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you SO SO much for your continued interest and feedback! Do you see any inconsistencies/possible corrections in this chapter? I really appreciate your extremely valuable feedback because not only does it keep my facts and characterizations in check, but it gives me the incentive to write faster and with more enthusiasm! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! Thanks again!**

**By the way, this next chapter's going to be intense—just a warning.**


	8. V Is For Vengeance

**A/N: I'm so glad you guys are raring to see more of the story! I must warn you that this chapter's not pretty, and Monk's wanting revenge, as you can imagine. Thanks for your feedback! And now, for chapter 8!**

* * *

"Where'd you get that?" Natalie cried, immediately alarmed at the sight of the gun on Monk's hip.

"It's my service pistol," he quickly explained, obviously annoyed with her question. "They gave it back to me after Sheriff Rollins was arrested."

"—But—"

"This time there'll be no second gunman. This one's all me."

"Mr. Monk, you can't just kill him!" Natalie exclaimed. "You'll go to prison!"

He shook his head.

"Yes, you will."

"No I won't—I'm dying, remember? I have nothing to lose."

It _was_ a good point. She paused for a minute or so, mulling over what to say.

"But don't you want to first establish that he was the murderer? To prove his guilt to the world so that it doesn't look like you just went nuts and shot him? There's no physical evidence, just words."

"There's the record of his being the father at the birthing center."

"Okay. Would that implicate him enough?"

"If it's missing on the computer, it will."

"Ah." She looked over at him, seeing that he was deep in thought. He wasn't satisfied with his own answer, and it showed.

"That's not enough, is it?" she inquired quietly.

"No," he replied, shaking his head briefly. "Because if it was deleted completely from the computer, there's no telling when it could have been deleted, which leaves reasonable doubt that Kazarinski was the one who did it—we obviously can't ask him, now that he's dead. Anyone could've taken that record book out and wrote in it, which means that Rickover's name could have been penciled in by anyone and doesn't necessarily have to be accurate. There's also the problem of linking Rickover to Kazarinski—there's no physical evidence that connects them…"

"So there's no evidence that Rickover is linked to Dr. Nash's death."

"Wait—" he suddenly said, and she could tell by his expression that something had occurred to him. "Even though paper may not be trustworthy, DNA is never wrong."

She wrinkled her eyebrows at him, a bit lost.

"What are you talking about?"

"The child."

"What about the child?"

Adrian turned to her, his voice insistent.

"It's _his child_, Natalie—the baby that he had with the girl thirty years ago; that's all the evidence that's needed. He's the father, and the victim told Trudy and Wendy that the father of her child was responsible for her beating—a beating that lead to her death. Her claim, combined with a DNA match for the child, would be enough."

"Finding an adopted child is like finding a needle in a haystack, Mr. Monk. It would take weeks, maybe even—"

"Which is precisely why I'm skipping that part and going straight to the sentencing phase."

"You can't just walk up to him and kill him!"

He cocked his head to the side, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Watch me."

She turned off the ignition, glaring over at him with narrowed eyes.

"I can't let you do this, Mr. Monk. You said you didn't want the last thing you did to be the other man, and yet now you're willing to murder someone!"

Monk let out a loud exasperated sigh.

"He killed my _wife_, Natalie. He killed my poor, sweet Trudy—he took her from me forever." She could see that he was beginning to get emotional, because he lifted a hand to his eyes and rubbed any tears that dared spill over. "She wasn't even his first victim, or his last. She was just someone who knew too much—just like the source, and Wendy Stroh, Dr. Nash—and now me. Trudy was nothing but a rogue reporter to him—he'd probably never even spoken to her before. If he'd known my Trudy," Adrian sobbed, "If he'd laid eyes on her for even just a moment… he never would have gone through with it. He's a cold-blood murderer, Natalie, and he deserves to die."

Instead of turning the ignition back on, Natalie pulled her purse in front of her and began digging around inside.

"What are you doing?" Monk inquired after a sniffle, his voice anxious. "Let's go!"

"I think we should call Captain Stottle—"

"No, Natalie! He's going to try to stop me and I can't have that." He glanced down at his watch, a scowl on his face. "This has been twelve years, three days, nine hours and fourteen minutes in the making and it's time he's finally paid for what he's done."

"Didn't you hear what Trudy said, Mr. Monk? She wanted you to put him behind bars. Remember? She asked you to do that for her. She told you not to kill him!" She hated to use such a heavy guilt trip on him, but this was serious business. "Don't you want to obey the last wishes of your wife?"

Suddenly his features softened, and he gazed over at her, defeat in his eyes.

"I _will_ be following her last wishes, in a way. She didn't want me to spend my life in prison. As you and I both know, I'm not going to prison."

Natalie crossed her arms in front of her, adamant.

"I'm not going to drive you to his house, and that's that. I don't want to be responsible for your final hours being spent in a holding cell."

"Give me the keys then." With that, he held out his hand insistently.

"No."

"Natalie…"

"No!"

She held her keys in an ironclad grip, staring straight ahead of her.

"Natalie, can't you see how much I want this?" Monk weakly murmured, his voice breaking. She glanced over at him with trepidation. He had shut his eyes tightly, and tears were running down his face. "I don't have much time. Just put yourself in my shoes—what if someone murdered a person you loved?"

"I wasn't about to kill the captain for shooting you," she replied matter-of-factly.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm talking about cold-blooded _murder_. Remember how scared you were when the Julies were getting killed? I'm talking about—"

"No, Mr. Monk. That's not the same. It's—"

"You killed a man. Right before we met, remember? How is this any different than that?"

"That was in self-defense. I had no choice; it was him or me."

"I don't have a choice either."

"What do you mean? You always have a choice—"

"It's already me who's dying; it may as well be him too."

She sighed, utterly disgusted. Maybe he'd change his mind as they were on their way. Maybe she could talk him out of it. At the moment he was becoming more and more agitated, the paleness re-emerging on his face as he nervously wrung his hands in front of him. It was plain to see that his adrenaline was quickly wearing off.

_Mr. Monk is not a murderer_, she told herself again and again. _He's just not capable of this—I _know_ him_.

With that she put the key in the ignition and started the car. A quick glance at Monk revealed that he was now smiling. _Oh God, please make him change his mind…._

* * *

Adrian directed Natalie onto the expressway towards the uppity neighborhood where the Judge resided. She merged into heavy traffic; the highway packed with more tractor trailers than either of them was comfortable with. Now that he had gotten his way, Monk had remained silent, aside for providing her with the occasional direction. She hadn't known what to say to him and so had stayed quiet—but now was the time to convince him to change his mind, now that traffic had slowed down considerably.

She turned to him, noticing his teeth chattering again, his right hand clutching the inner door handle. As she switched lanes, he moved his hand briefly to roll down the window, his face deathly pale again. The breeze stemming from her 30 mph driving speed seemed to make him more comfortable but after diesel fumes began to enter the vehicle, he hastily rolled his window back up.

There was a period of about thirty seconds where not a sound was made, and suddenly Monk's hand was on her leg, his knuckles white.

"Pull over."

"What?"

"Pull over, Natalie."

Had he changed his mind? She could just as easily wait until the next exit, and re-enter the highway going the opposite way. Pulling over just seemed—

"Just do it! Natalie…"

"Okay, okay!" she replied, shifting over two lanes and pulling onto the shoulder.

She watched Monk fumble with his seatbelt, throw the door open and stagger out of the vehicle. What in God's name was he doing?

"What are you—" she began, but was interrupted by a rather disgusting sound. Monk had gotten sick.

Immediately she turned off her car and put on her flashers, stepping carefully out of the driver's side to rush to his aid. Monk was now bent over the guardrail, his hands clutching the guardrail with all his might as he again became sick.

She ran up behind him with a handful of stray wipes she had grabbed from the glove compartment, rubbing his back and shoulders with her hands as Monk's stomach became a good deal emptier. As he straightened his back a bit, his face the picture of disgust, she wiped his mouth off with one wipe and his forehead with the other, balling them up inside yet another wipe.

"Oh God, Natalie; that's horrible," he moaned, smacking his lips together, shutting his eyes for an instant. As she watched in horror, his hand went to his handgun for a moment and then moved away. He turned his face to her, his eyes watery and sad. "You shouldn't have to see this. _No one_ should have to see this."

"I'm here for you, Mr. Monk, no matter what happens," she replied soothingly, her hand tracing circles onto his back.

"Would you mind backing up the car?" he asked, the muscles in his face seemingly on hyperdrive, for his mouth and jaw line couldn't keep still for more than a split second.

"Why," she replied, suspicious. He turned around to face the car.

"I'll stand right there," he said, pointing to a spot on the shoulder, "and you can just run me down. It'll look like an accident, so you shouldn't get in any trouble. If you do, just tell them I had just… V'ed—twice. They'll understand."

"I'm not going to kill you, so you can forget about it," she replied matter-of-factly. "Is there anything you'd like me to get for you from my car to make you more comfortable?"

"More comfortable than _this_?" he shot sarcastically. "A cactus being ground into my eye would make me feel better than this—in fact, anything would be more comfortable than this."

She sighed disappointedly, distraught at the dark turn Monk's psyche had taken in a mere two hours' time. Shaking her head, she handed Monk wipes to clean off his hands, which he proceeded to do with a grimace of disgust on his face. His face was a sickening yellowish-green and sweat had beaded up along his hairline. Natalie said a silent prayer hoping that this was the last time he'd have to be sick. It was bad enough to have to throw up, as a person who didn't fear it—but in Monk's case, this was mind-numbingly horrific.

As they stood by the guardrail, Natalie watched Adrian's expression of disgust transform instantaneously into that into that of utter dread, his eyes widening with horror as he promptly bent back over the guardrail, becoming sick once again.

Natalie rubbed Adrian's back soothingly as he proceeded to again be violently ill. She could feel him trembling beneath her hands. Most likely it was because he was scared to death, and for good reason. This is what the doctor had called for, and it was now happening to him. How much longer did he have?

After he was done, there was a period of silence in which Natalie moved to his side, handing him another wipe. Rather than take the wipe, however, Adrian slumped forward, his body losing all rigidity.

* * *

**A/N: So, what did you think? I'm sorry that this chapter is a bit short (and a bit gross-I'm emetophobic so admittingly it was a bit hard to write), but if all goes well enough I should have one (or even 2!) chapters before the episode airs tonight at 9! If you'd like to see that happen, please let me know! I need all the encouragement I can get, because this speed of posting is truly record-breaking for me—not that that's a bad thing, of course!**


	9. Tubes

**A/N: Hello, lovely readers! I know it's cutting it close to the episode time, but I just finished this chapter! Please tell me what you think! I think there'll be just one chapter after this to make this story have 10 chapters in all, a perfect, even number! (too bad they didn't do that many seasons with Monk, which would have been extremely appropriate). Please take a moment and let me know what you thought of this chapter! And enjoy the last new Monk episode tonight! (by the way, I'm not making any money from this, and I don't own any of the characters, just as a reminder. I just want everyone to support my favorite show!)**

* * *

Her eyes wide as saucers, Natalie leapt forward, catching Adrian in her arms before he could fall over—which would have been right onto his vomit, no less.

His body was very heavy, a dead weight that she staggered beneath, jamming her arms underneath his armpits as she dragged him towards the car. It was then that he stirred, a choked sound coming from his lips.

"Mr. Monk?!" she cried, gaping down at him from a sort of upside-down perspective. His eyes remained closed, as he was still apparently unconscious. Suddenly it occurred to her what was happening—he was going to be sick again.

Deftly she lowered him to the ground, rolling him onto his side just before he became sick again. She stayed by his side, giving his arm little squeezes, frantically putting up a little wall of wipes to block the sick from running back towards his body.

After a minute or so, he had stopped and lay quietly on his side, his labored breathing the only sign of life. Natalie sprinted back to the car and grabbed the phone, immediately calling 911. She made sure that Monk's face was cleaned up and that he was still safely on his side as the operator talked her through the steps to take.

* * *

In less than ten minutes the paramedics arrived, lifting Monk's body onto a stretcher and putting him in an ambulance. He had not been sick again since Natalie had made the call, much to her relief, but he still had not regained consciousness.

Natalie followed the ambulance in hot pursuit all the way to the hospital, calling Captain Stottlemeyer as she swerved dangerously in and out of traffic.

"Captain," she panted into the phone, "Monk's been getting sick. He passed out on the side of the highway. We're headed to St. Jude's. Please hurry; I don't know how much time he has left."

"_Oh my God; of course I'll be there, Natalie_." She could hear the shifting of papers, the sound of fabric on fabric. "_I'm leaving now_."

She could hear his door shutting and the sound of a telephone ringing, most likely from the main room of the station as the captain passed through it.

"There's something else, Captain."

"_What's that_."

"Did Mr. Monk ever mention to you that Trudy left him a present which he never opened?"

"_Yeah; he said he wanted to keep that one last secret between them. Why?_"

"He opened it."

"_He did?__**" **_he asked, alarm in his voice._ "…But he said he was never gonna open—_"

"There was a tape inside, Captain."

"_Tape?_ _You mean, like a videotape? That's weird_."

"No… Trudy recorded a message for him. She had a premonition that she would die. She told us the name of her killer."

There was a dramatic pause on the other end. Finally the captain broke the silence.

"_Oh my God. Really?_"

"She'd left it under the tree for Mr. Monk so if she died he'd open and know what happened."

"_So all this time Monk had the answer to her murder right in front of him. Who did it? Who killed Trudy?_"

"It's Ethan Rickover, the judge who's getting ready to retir—"

"_What?_" She could hear sounds being stifled around the phone, for it suddenly became very quiet. There was a metallic bang on the other end indicating that the captain had shut the door to the stairwell. He knew damn well that that name meant trouble.

"It all has to do with the midwife who disappeared twelve years ago, Captain. Wendy Stroh. She and Trudy witnessed something together, something terrible that he had done. Oh God!"

Natalie dropped the phone on the ground as she slammed on the brakes, stopping within inches of the back of the ambulance holding Adrian.

"_What is it, Natalie? What happened?_" Stottlemeyer's deep voice carried well in the car, though the phone had fallen by her feet. She picked it up, sighing with utter relief.

"I didn't realize the ambulance had stopped," she admitted. "I had to slam on my brakes. I'll tell you more when we meet up. I should be paying more attention. I'd never forgive myself if I hit the back of that ambulance."

"_Alright, Natalie. You stay safe, okay? I'm gonna take the squad car so I can get there faster._"

* * *

Natalie left her car in the emergency entrance right behind the ambulance, ignoring the hospital staff's requests for her to park. Rather than even verbally respond, she spitefully threw her keys at a staff member, sprinting into building so that she could accompany Monk to the emergency room. His skin was deathly pale, face drawn into what looked to be a permanent grimace, still very much unconscious. Oxygen tubes snaked into his nostrils and Natalie was suddenly glad he wasn't aware of what had been done. He would have run screaming from the hospital if he'd known _things _had been inserted up his nose.

As the stretcher was wheeled into the triage, Natalie attempted to follow but was stopped dead in her tracks.

"You family? Only family's allowed back here, Ma'am," a rather burly nurse commented, holding Natalie back with a beefy arm.

"I'm… his wife," she blurted. "I want to stay with him. Please."

"What's your name?"

She glanced over at Adrian, lying there so vulnerable, so weak, on the stretcher. She had to blink several times to clear her vision of this poor man, dying right in front of her eyes.

"Natalie."

The nurse looked a bit agitated. "Natalie—?"

"Monk. I'm sorry; I'm Natalie Monk."

She reached out a hand to shake the nurse's hand, but was instead guided into the triage, the nurse's hand on her back.

"You can come on back, Mrs. Monk."

* * *

Natalie looked around her as a group of nurses descended upon Adrian Monk, checking his pulse, blood pressure, pupil diameter, knee-jerk reflex test and whatever else.

"Can you tell us what happened to him? He looks pretty bad."

"He was poisoned. Some kind of ricin-like synthetic toxin. He was just diagnosed at another hospital yesterday. I don't know if he ate it or if it got in elsewhere—"

Suddenly she recognized a familiar face. Dr. Shuler appeared behind her, placing his hand on her back.

"How's he doing?"

"He got sick, just like you said. But why did he pass out?"

"I'm not sure," Dr. Shuler replied, raising an eyebrow. "However, I think it best that while he's out we could start him up on something. I did a bit of research earlier today when I had some down-time and came up with something we could try. There was a study done in the early '80s—1983, I believe— on a person who attempted suicide by ricin poisoning and recovered after doctors administered a saline and glucose solution."

"By all means then; do that then!" Natalie exclaimed. "Why didn't you call us? I gave you my number. We could have gotten here sooner, _before_ he became sick."

"Well, the fact that he vomited tells us more about how he was exposed to the poison, a fact which can better help us treat him. Now that we know he most likely ingested the ricin, we can try this IV. I cannot guarantee he's going to survive, Natalie, but I will tell you that ricin poisoning by ingestion has a much better prognosis than if ricin was injected or inhaled."

She smiled, though confusion was evident in her eyes.

"Why's that?"

"Because much of it is broken down by stomach acid and digestive enzymes. In the latter two routes ricin can directly enter the bloodstream, which is far worse."

There was a pause as Dr. Shuler gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Treat him!"

* * *

Upon arriving at St. Jude's Hospital, Captain Stottlemeyer was redirected to the intensive care unit, room 10. At the sound of the room number being told to him, he almost smiled—ten was Monk's favorite number.

He held his breath as he ascended the elevator, fearful of what he might find. How much longer would Monk hold out? He hated to think that his closest friend—his best friend and Best Man at his wedding—was dying, and hated it even more to know that there was nothing anyone could do to help him.

The captain entered room 10 to find Adrian seemingly sleeping, his face completely still, oxygen being fed into his nostrils, an IV bag dripping into a needle in his right arm. Natalie sat on a chair next to his hospital bed by his IV-free arm, his hand palm up as she rubbed little circles into his palm with her thumb.

"Hello, Natalie," the captain whispered in an attempt to keep from startling her. She looked up as he noticed then a slew of balloons all over the single-bed room, a huge bouquet of flowers on the nightstand. Hadn't Monk just gotten here?

"Hello Captain. I'm so glad you're here."

He stepped cautiously around the hospital bed, stopping briefly at Monk's feet to take in the view of his friend.

Monk's skin was no longer a frighteningly ashen or yellow-green color as Natalie had seen, but it was by no means normal-looking. Natalie had laid a cool rag on his forehead which served both to cool his hot forehead off and to soak up the sweat constantly pouring out of his skin. He wore a pale blue hospital gown which was low cut in the front, exposing Monk's collarbones and a bit of his chest, the dark hair there matted with sweat.

"Did he regain consciousness yet?" Stottlemeyer inquired, finishing the trip to Natalie's side. He laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and she briefly leaned her head against it.

"No. Dr. Shuler said that there's no pathological reason why he would've lost consciousness; only that Mr. Monk probably brought it on himself after being sick."

"Oh? Dr. Shuler's here?"

"Yeah, I guess he has an office in this hospital too. He told me that Mr. Monk must've ingested the poison, being as he vomited. He said the prognosis for ricin ingestion is much better than if he'd inhaled it or had it injected into him. It's good news… you know?"

"It sure is, Natalie," Stottlemeyer replied, his rich, deep voice oddly comforting at a time like this. The captain proceeded to pull up a chair and sat down next to Natalie, listening to the steady beeps and blips of Monk's heart machine.

"Where'd all these balloons and flowers come from?" he questioned. "I thought you told me you just got here…"

"I bought them," she replied, lines of strain on her face. "Just wanted him to wake up into a cheerful room… Don't tell him I bought them."

"Why not?"

"I'm going to say they're from lots of people: the SFPD station, you, Randy, Sharona…."

The captain suddenly dug around in his back pocket, pulling a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet.

"There; that covers me, T.K., and Randy for those three balloons there," he gestured, indicating a 'Get Well Soon' smiley face balloon, a balloon with a fluffy dog on it, and a black-and-white polka dot balloon.

"I can understand why you picked the first two, but why the polka dot one, Captain?"

"Well, why'd you pick it?" he asked back.

"I bought all the balloons... in the gift shop downstairs. They all seemed to look pretty encouraging, but I just realized that that one has no words on it."

She saw a smile emerge on the captain's face.

"The dots are perfectly even, perfectly spaced apart. He'll love it."

"I didn't even think of that," she admitted, swiping some stray hairs off her face. "He's very lucky to have a friend like you, Captain."

"He's even luckier to have a woman like you in his life."

With an unexpected sniffle, Natalie turned to the captain in her chair, wrapping her arms around his back. She felt a new stream of tears emerging and pulled back before they could dampen the captain's jacket.

* * *

Several awkward moments passed, a steady beeping all that could be heard in the small balloon-filled room.

"Ah," Natalie suddenly remembered, "so I was telling you about Trudy…. About Ethan Ri—"

"Hold that thought," Stottlemeyer interjected, holding a finger up. "Let me shut the door."

"Who is this guy, anyway?" Natalie asked, scoffing as she watched him close the door quietly. "Everyone's terrified of him; even you."

"It's not that, Natalie; it's just, he's a well-respected and highly connected judge and so an accusation without ample evidence to back it up could very well land someone… well, somewhere they don't wanna be."

"He killed Trudy, Captain. And Wendy Stroh, and Trudy's source, and an unnamed pregnant teenager _and_ Dr. Nash—"

"What? Did Trudy say all this on the tape? Aside from Dr. Nash, of course…."

"Yes she did, Captain. You remember how Mr. Monk pointed out that Joey Kazarinski used the computer and tried to make it look like he'd taken some pills? He deleted a file on that computer."

"Of what? What does this have to do with Trudy?"

"Just give me a minute. It's complicated. Ethan Rickover—"

"Let's just call him 'Mr. Smith' for the time being, in case someone is listening. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew people in this very hospital."

"Geez—okay, so probably around '78 or '79 Mr. Smith impregnated a teenage girl, a girl who attended Berkeley with Trudy. Something happened that caused him to beat the girl so badly that she ended up dying from it. In the meantime, she was pregnant and in labor, and Trudy and the midwife Wendy Stroh saw her and saved the baby, but not before the girl could tell them that the father of the baby had done this to her. The baby was put up for adoption and the case was never solved, until Wendy called Trudy up, requesting her to write an article on the girl. Well, Trudy received a lead from a source that told her that the murderer was Ethan—I mean… Mr. Smith."

She continued lazily trailing circles into the palm of Monk's hand, looking over at the captain, whose expression made it obvious that he wanted her to continue. She cleared her throat, continuing the explanation.

"The source also revealed his own name to Trudy before letting her know that he'd tell her the definitive proof that Eth—umm, Mr. Smith, had killed the pregnant girl, but that he needed to be in a safer place. Before Trudy could talk to him again, he was found hanged. Trudy knew it wasn't suicide; it was murder. She went to the police with the name and they told her they needed proof; meanwhile, Wendy's life and family were threatened and she told Trudy to drop it, so she did. Shortly before Trudy was killed, Wendy called her up and told her she'd felt guilty and had written down the killer's name in the birth records book along with what she knew about the mother and baby girl. She called back several days later, several days after she'd officially went missing, and told Trudy that she'd meet Trudy in that parking garage—and Trudy agreed to it. Trudy made the tape the night before she was killed."

Stottlemeyer looked stunned, as if the information were slowly sinking into him piece by piece.

"Oh my God, Natalie. To think, of all people, someone like Judge Rickover did this," he murmured, putting his face in his hands. "Why couldn't it have been some common scum? He's really up there, Natalie." He lifted his face to Natalie suddenly, staring her down. "What did Monk do when he heard the name?"

"He wanted to kill him."

"Well, that's understandable—"

"No, you don't understand, Captain. He brought a handgun with him in the car. He told me to bring him to Eth—ugh, Mr. _Smith's_ house. I refused, of course, but then it seemed like his rage was wearing off again and I figured he'd change his mind."

"Why didn't you call me when you told you that? I could've stopped h—"

"He was so insistent. I've never seen him so determined. In the minutes after he watched the tape, it was like he wasn't poisoned anymore. I was so glad to see him perk up that I didn't want to hurt him by going against his wishes and—"

"I understand, Natalie. I would have probably done the same thing you did."

"Really?"

"Yes. You did nothing wrong."

"If I'd called you, maybe he wouldn't have gotten sick—"

"He would have still gotten sick, Natalie; only in his house. He'd probably never recover from that. It's better that it was along some road; believe me."

"What do we do now?"

"We wait."

"I mean, about _Mr. Smith_."

"Does Monk know how we can link him to any of the crimes? We need some proof before we can get a warrant for his arrest. What's weird is usually he himself signs those. He's gonna be pretty surprised, I'll bet--if he doesn't know already, that is."

"The written record at the birthing center has his name on it as the father of the murdered girl's child. It's not in order and so Mr. Monk bets that Kazarinski wasn't able to find it."

"So, his name is on a piece of paper. I don't know, Natalie…."

"There's the child—it's a girl. She was put up for adoption."

"Know where she is?"

Natalie shook her head.

"We need more than that. Hell, if we could find a body, we wouldn't even need an arrest warrant."

"So we're just going to sit here while Mr. Smith walks free."

"Let's just wait until Monk wakes up," Stottlemeyer recommended. "If anyone could uncover physical evidence, it's him."

* * *

Adrian Monk opened his eyes gradually to a white drop ceiling, a ceiling that was definitely not his apartment's. Large shiny aluminum balloons cast eerie shadows on the walls, making him blink several times before he realized where he was: a hospital.

He felt an odd sensation in his nose, and reached up to find that tubes had been snaked down his throat. Immediately he made a choked sound, glancing around himself frantically to free himself from this trap. The last time he had been in a hospital he had been very nearly poisoned with tetracycline. How had he gotten here?

It was then that he noticed Natalie slumped over the railing of the bed, blonde hair drooping over her face, her hand gently resting on his left hand. She snored pretty loudly, he noted with surprise, but then he looked further to her right—Captain Stottlemeyer had fallen asleep in the chair next to hers. It was clear that he was the snorer.

"Natalie," Monk murmured, squeezing her hand in his own. She made a sound, readjusting the position of her head on the railing. "Natalie."

This time she sat bolt upright, her eyes opening to find Monk--wide awake in his bed!

"Oh Mr. Monk; I'm so glad you woke up!" she cried, lifting his hand up and planting ten kisses on it. "How are you feeling? Better?"

"I would be feeling better, if it weren't for these tubes in my nose," he grumbled, following his statement up with weak coughing sound.

"No, they're good for you, Mr. Monk," she explained, patting his hand. "They're going to make you feel better."

"How? By giving me exercise for my arms when I yank them out?"

"No; it's oxygen—"

"Did I kill him?"

"You mean, Rickover?" she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yes, Natalie. Who _else_ do I want to kill?"

She shook her head, biting her lip as she did so. It wouldn't have been right to lie to him. He was probably just testing her, anyway; he knew very well that nothing had come of his thirst for vengeance.

"The captain's here," she said, gesturing to the sleeping police captain. "I told him about the tape."

"Did he kill him?"

"No, Mr. Monk. They have to have some physical evidence before they can get a warrant. He did mention that a body would allow him to skip that step…"

"Ugh, I could have gotten it over with yesterday, Natalie. I just stood there while he talked about never wanting to leave his house or fix his shower…."

Suddenly a mischievous smile spread across his face, instantly lighting up all his features with joy.

"What is it, Mr. Monk?" Natalie asked, her voice filled with excitement. "Did you figure it out?"

* * *

**A/N: Ahh, so it's really coming down to it now! Just one more chapter (I think)! Anyway, please read and review! You don't know how much it means to me to get your feedback!! Thanks again, everyone!**


	10. Revelations

**A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for your kind and encouraging feedback about the last chapter! I had originally intended for this chapter to be the final chapter, but it's just going to be too darn long! I hope you don't mind the story ending on the 11th chapter and not on 10. I apologize profusely for the delay in updating—I wanted to write this chapter so it didn't come across as rushed, and for that, I had to write a lot more than I first predicted. And now that most of you have seen the final episode, hopefully you won't find what Monk does in this chapter to be out-of-character. Please let me know what you think!! And thank you again for following along!**

**Oh, and by the way, you'll see I've incorporated a couple of lines & plot elements from the actual episode of the End Part 2, but my story won't be completely in line with it as you well know, being as this is moving along an M/N track!**

* * *

Adrian Monk continued to beam at Natalie, his chapped lips drawn up into the loveliest of grins.

"A body," he suddenly exclaimed. "Wendy Stroh's—she's buried in his backyard."

"Why do you say that?"

"Think about it, Natalie. Rickover with all his connections, and yet, he never called someone to fix his shower? That makes no sense. If they'd had to dig up his yard they would have found the body—and there's no arguing with a body. And his wife swearing he'd never leave his house? It reeks… of a body."

"Oh my God; you did it!" she exclaimed, her face lit up with a big smile. "But where is it in his yard?" Natalie added worriedly. "The cops can't very well dig up his whole yard…."

"I'm not finished," he commented, impatiently watching his assistant. "His shower had been broken for 14 years, which was 2 years before Wendy Stroh was buried there. I'll bet there was a swampy area of his yard from a leaky pipe and so he took advantage of the shower leak. It was much easier for him to dig a hole in the soggy dirt. He didn't fix the bad pipes until recently, when the body would have been reduced to a skeleton…"

"So where exactly is the body in his yard?"

"I'd have to look at it again—I think I could figure it out… The grass there would be a different shade of green—probably more a yellowish green due to the lack of air…."

"What? You're not going over there; you have to rest up. They could just bring in cadaver-sniffing dogs…. They'll find it with no problem. I'm sure his wife doesn't know about the body, but I'll bet she saw him digging up the yard and knows where he was digging—I'll bet she could pinpoint the spot."

Monk just looked at her, a bit baffled. Suddenly something occurred to him.

"You're right. She'd know for sure, but wouldn't know why the police would be asking. But anyway, he's the guy and that proves it…."

As Monk finished up his explanation, Natalie leapt up onto her feet and leaned across the railing of his hospital bed, wrapping her arms around him in a bear hug. Stottlemeyer couldn't help but hear Natalie's impromptu exclamation and stirred awake.

"Captain; Mr. Monk solved the case!" Natalie exclaimed, her voice positively bubbly, as she sat back down in her chair.

"Not really, Captain," Monk added, a bit of embarrassment in his voice. "Trudy solved the case."

Natalie turned back to her boss, giving him a little head shake.

"You're just being modest, Mr. Monk." She turned again to the captain.

"Mr. Monk tied up all the loose ends," she proclaimed with a big appreciative smile. "He knows where we can find a body."

"Well, it better be in Ethan Rickover's backyard or it's gonna take a while to tie him in—"

"That's the thing," Monk interjected. "It _is_ in Rickover's backyard. Wendy Stroh; she just disappeared without a trace. Remember yesterday, when his wife said he'd never move from his house—that he'd commute? And that he hadn't had the shower fixed in 14 years? That's the clincher. The body's buried in his backyard."

"Really?" the captain said with a snort. "You connected all the dots to your wife's murder with one sentence?"

Natalie couldn't read his face. Was Stottlemeyer angry? In disbelief? It was impossible to tell by the captain's expression.

"You're something else, Monk," the captain suddenly murmured, a smile spreading across his face.

Monk took a second to smile back, but then his face turned serious again.

"Natalie—could you get me some tea?" he asked, his voice scratchy from all the explaining he had just done. Smiling, she stood up without a word and left the room.

"Looks like you're doing a hell of a lot better, Monk," the captain commented, a smile on his face, once they were alone.

"Here's the thing—I'm faking it… for Natalie," Monk admitted, his face twisted in a grimace.

Stottlemeyer stood up with a start.

"What? Monk, you can't be serious…."

"I'm dead serious, Leland. And soon I won't be serious."

Stottlemeyer could only stifle Monk's rather decent stab at humor.

"You've got the son-of-a-bitch now, Monk. We're gonna arrest him and get that body using cadaver dogs. He's goin' down. You got him."

Monk gazed up at him, and Stottlemeyer could swear there was a glint of a tear on his cheek.

"I wish I could be there to see that...."

"Don't say that, Monk. Course you will."

"I'm telling you, I won't be there. I want you to promise me something, Leland."

"Anything for you, buddy."

He watched Monk's earnest face, the paleness of his chapped lips, the sheen of sweat on his brow.

"Kill him."

Stottlemeyer hesitated for a second, completely tongue-tied. Was that some kind of cruel joke? No. This man was the guy responsible for Trudy's death, for Monk's breakdown. Monk was dead serious. Eventually he slurred his words out to be barely intelligible, leaning over Monk's bed.

"Okay Monk. I'll kill him for you. There won't be a trial."

There was a pause as the two men stared at each other, and then Monk began to slowly shake his head, a knowing smile on his face. He finally spoke, his pale lips forming the words.

"You're lying."

* * *

Natalie re-entered the room to see a very different scene than when she left. Stottlemeyer had his head in his hands and Monk was shifting around in his bed, glancing occasionally at the police captain.

"Did I miss something?" she asked, feeling awkward as she handed Monk his tea.

Both men replied their versions of 'no' at the same time. Verrry suspicious.

As she put the tea down, her eyes scanning between Monk and Stottlemeyer, the cup leaned too far to the side, spilling across the table top over Monk's bed. Natalie immediately scrambled towards the room's paper towel dispenser, flapping her arm in front of the electric eye. In a moment or two she looked underneath it to find that it was empty.

"I'm sorry about this, Mr. Monk, but I think that this qualifies as a valid emergency," she muttered, scurrying towards Monk's clothes and pulling out the recently replenished packet of wipes that he kept only for emergencies. She shook one out and immediately began wiping off the table, lest it spill onto Monk's blanket. She'd never hear the end of it if that happened.

Monk watched her intently as she soaked up the tea with his wipes, afterwards taking out a new batch and going over the tea-free table very thoroughly.

"Hey, Natalie; why don't I go get you something to eat. You have to be starving," the captain offered. "Especially now that your hands couldn't be cleaner." He winked at Monk, who smiled weakly.

"If you could just get me a piece of fruit, like an apple, that'd be great. Thank you, Captain," she said, happy for the kind offer. She _was_ rather hungry, and the enticing smell of the tea spilled everywhere had only made it worse.

* * *

Stottlemeyer returned in no time with a shiny red apple, which Natalie immediately bit into as she stood by Monk's bed, licking the juice that dripped down the corners of her mouth.

"Oooh. This is really good."

"Aw, Natalie; don't talk too much about food," Monk moaned. "I'm still thinking about what happened along that highway…"

Natalie glanced over at him as he responded, a sudden pain as she turned to face him.

"That's odd," she said, nursing her side. "Must've pulled something."

"Really? Because you didn't really do anything," Monk muttered. Natalie gave him a little glare, and then glanced down at the table across his bed.

"Oh," she suddenly exclaimed, "I'm really sorry about that. I missed a couple spots."

Monk watched her in astonishment as she pulled another wipe out, beginning to re-wipe the perfectly clean table. He studied her carefully, his eyebrow cocked. Was she turning into him?

"Natalie, are you okay?"

"Of course—" she replied, looking confused. "Weren't you referring to my not cleaning the table? You just said I didn't really do anything."

"No, Natalie. It's just—there _are_ no spots on the table."

"What? Yes there are."

Suddenly she was hit with a wave of nausea, and clutched her stomach. Adrian watched her double over with pain and immediately knew.

"Natalie—you've been poisoned too!"

Stottlemeyer stood up quickly, rushing to Natalie's side.

"What are you talking about, Monk? You were nowhere near the hospital cafeteria when you got poisoned…"

It was then that Monk and Stottlemeyer both looked down at the wipes in her hand. Natalie gasped and threw them down onto the table.

"The poison is on the wipes!" he cried.

"Oh my God," she muttered, in utter disbelief. "It must've rubbed off on my hands and onto the apple…"

* * *

Within moments, Natalie was promptly taken to Dr. Shuler, who quickly administered her activated charcoal to soak up the poison in her stomach. Captain Stottlemeyer went with her, sitting nervously in the waiting room. His best friend was dying several floors up, and his good friend Natalie might possibly share the same fate. It was difficult to bear, and while he waited, he called T.K. in an attempt to calm himself down.

"Now, we're going to observe you for overnight just to make sure the poison's out of your system," Dr. Shuler explained, after Natalie had been administered the treatment. "Would you be willing to agree with that?"

"Only if I can go back to Mr. Monk's room. Now that you know the source of the ricin, does that up his prognosis any?"

He smiled at her.

"In regards to if you can go to Monk's room, you can go wherever you want," he replied. "I think you're going to be just fine, but I do recommend you stay overnight. The levels of ricin in your body are quite low—it's good you didn't hold onto those wipes any longer. Knowing the route of entry actually does up Adrian's prognosis, being as the ricin on the wipes was not mixed with a solvent like DMSO, which would take it right through the skin and into the bloodstream. You're very lucky you figured out what happened, Natalie."

"It wasn't me," she said insistently, tears forming in her eyes. "It was Mr. Monk. He saved me."

* * *

After she had been released from Dr. Shuler's care, Natalie and the captain approached room 10 in the intensive care unit very quietly, for it was already after 11. As she pushed the door open, a flood of light entering the room from the hallway, Adrian sat up ramrod straight in his bed, having removed the oxygen tubes from his nose.

"Are you okay, Natalie? What did Dr. Shuler say?"

"I'm going to be okay, but he wants to observe me overnight."

"—Wait… He's going to watch you sleep?"

"No, I'm going to stay in the hospital. It's just to make sure I don't get worse. Oh, God; I need to call Julie."

Monk sat quietly in his bed while Natalie told her daughter what had happened but reassured Julie that she'd be okay. It was extremely difficult to get Julie to agree that she wouldn't come home.

"I'm still a bit freaked out by that phone call you got, Julie," Natalie explained. "Please just stay put at your grandparents' house. I'll call you tomorrow morning."

Several more minutes of bickering followed, with Natalie eventually begging Julie to stay put.

"Please, honey; I'm going to be just fine," Natalie explained. "Don't worry about me, okay?"

* * *

Once Natalie had been given a clean bill of health, Captain Stottlemeyer decided it was time to act on Monk's solid evidence for Ethan Rickover in the death of Wendy Stroh.

"Please call me if anything comes up," he told Monk, standing up and adjusting his coat. "I'm just a phone call away. Judge Rickover lives pretty close to here, so it shouldn't be long."

"I want to come with you," Monk said, insistence in his voice.

"You know very well you're not in the condition to go wandering around outside. You need to rest up."

"Can you call me when you, you know, _arrest_ him?" Monk said, attempting to give the captain a wink. He still held onto the hope that the captain would follow through on the promise of Rickover's death, a promise that had basically been improbable from the beginning.

Once Natalie was off the phone, she looked over at Monk, who was pretending not to have listened to her conversation with her daughter.

"What're you going to do now?" he asked her, watching her scoot her chair up against the side of his bed.

"I'm going to stay with you until they take me to my room," she admitted, holding up her wrist to show him her plastic hospital wristband.

"How are you feeling?" he suddenly blurted. "Did Dr. Shuler help you? Please tell me everything's going to be okay…."

Natalie was caught off-guard by Monk's concern. It was refreshing to see him taking such an interest in her well-being. She involuntarily smiled.

"I'm feeling much better now, actually, thanks to your quick thinking. Dr. Shuler _did_ help me, and he said that now that he knows the poison's route of entry into _your_ body, you have a much better prognosis." She was scared to say any more, being that the doctor hadn't exactly told her that Monk's survival was a guarantee, so she left it at that.

Rather than ask any more questions, Monk shifted uncomfortably in his bed.

"I need to get out of here, Natalie," he murmured. "It's driving me crazy knowing that Rickover's still out there. It's all your fault, really. If you hadn't gotten poisoned, I was going to…"

Suddenly he shut his mouth, aware that he had said too much. He began looking around the room awkwardly, pointing weakly up at the ceiling.

"Wait—is that a polka dot balloo—"

Natalie could see what he was trying to do, and interrupted his attempt to change the subject.

"You were going to _what_?"

"Nothing."

"You were going to say something just now. What were you going to do?"

"Uhm… I was going to ask to accompany the captain to arrest Rickover."

"I heard you ask him—and he said no," she said, narrowing her eyes at him. "I know you want to go after that murderer by yourself. But you can't, Mr. Monk. The captain's taking care of that right now. They've got all the evidence they need to lock him away forever."

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door.

"Mrs. Teeger," a nurse said, looking down at the charts in her hands. "Your room is ready. You can visit with Mr. Monk tomorrow. We're going to keep you on this floor. Room 19."

"Ugh," Monk suddenly groaned. Natalie glanced over at him, wondering the reasoning for such a sound. Would he request Natalie to stay with him? His room was technically a single room but it could be used as a slightly crowded double room. She'd be okay with that. It was hard for her to stomach leaving him for a night, even if she was right down the hall.

"What is it, Mr. Monk?" Natalie asked. "Do you not want me to be in that room?"

"Yes."

She was caught off-guard, and showed it in the expression on her face.

"Yes, you _don't _want me to be in room 19?"

"That's what I said."

She grinned at him, her eyes sparkling.

"Where, then?"

He looked deep in thought, as if considering something very carefully. She held her breath, hoping for Monk to make this huge move, this major step towards….

"How about room 20?" he ventured. "It's… even."

Natalie couldn't hold back the automatic sigh she let out. The nurse was the next person to speak.

"Well, I guess that room is open, Mrs. Teeger. It's up to you."

"Okay," Natalie mumbled. She stood up, moving to Monk's bedside. "I'll meet you down there in a second. I'm going to say goodnight to Mr. Monk first."

"Alright. Five minutes. We just need to do a couple of simple tests: blood pressure, pulse, standard procedures…"

* * *

After the nurse left the room, Natalie walked over to Monk's bedside. He gazed up at her, his eyes suddenly looking misty.

"You're not lying to me when you tell me you're going to be fine… right?" he asked her earnestly.

"I told you, just as I told Julie; I'm going to be just fine, thanks to you," she replied, patting his bare arm appreciatively. "The ricin level was very low. I didn't hold onto the wipes for very long and Dr. Shuler gave me a treatment that soaks up ricin in the stomach. I'm feeling 100% again."

"You don't know how happy that makes me. I don't know what I would've done if you'd…." Suddenly she saw a rogue tear slide down his face, and felt overcome with emotion.

"I'm going to be alright, Mr. Monk. Don't worry about anything; just keep your strength up and—"

Suddenly Monk put his hand over Natalie's hand.

"I'm sorry," he muttered quietly. "I'm sorry you had to see me—being sick. I'm sorry for—"

"Mr. Monk; I have a daughter who was once a toddler. Believe me; I've seen it all. Besides, it's not like you got sick on me or in my car." She winked at him at the cutesy tease. "You have nothing to be sorry about."

He made a face of complete distaste.

"That _would_ be horrible. Oh, God; that'd be permanently scarring… can you imagine? It makes me sick to my stomach to even _imagine_ _imagining _it."

There was a pause in which an opportunity for Monk to say something to Natalie… was missed. Natalie somehow hid the disappointment she felt.

"Well, I'm going to go to my room now. I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Monk."

"Goodnight, Natalie. Thank you for everything. You had to put up with quite a lot today—N, V…."

"I'm always happy to help you. Goodnight, Mr. Monk. And remember; if you need anything, call my cell. I'm right down the hall."

She began to pull her hand out from underneath Monk's hand, but he held fast. With a confused expression on her face, she gaped down at him.

"What is it?"

"If I don't see you tomorrow, I want you to know that I… " He paused suddenly, sighing before continuing as he looked down at her hand. "Here's the thing: it was difficult for me to say to even Trudy, though I always felt it for her…. but then, maybe it was because I found it so hard to believe that someone like her could love me that I couldn't just say it back, and I regret not saying it more, but now I…. Natalie, I—"

"You're not giving up on me now, Mr. Monk!" Natalie interrupted, using her free hand to liberate the hand he had trapped. "I'm not going to let you! You're going to get better and _then_ you can decide what to say."

As much as Natalie wanted to hear the word from Adrian's lips, she didn't want it to accompany his giving up the will to live—which if she had let him continue, may very well have been the case. She had convinced herself that he would live, but allowing him to confess his feelings in such a way might give him that final acceptance he'd need before dying… and she couldn't have that.

"Goodnight, Mr. Monk!" she said again in an attempt to drown him out, quickly shutting the door to his room as she stepped into the hallway, tears welling up in her eyes.

* * *

Monk lie in his hospital bed, utterly terrified to fall asleep, when he received the call. He fumbled for his cell phone, which Natalie had conveniently placed on the nightstand by his bed, and opened it just before the final ring.

"_Monk?_" It was the captain.

"Yes, Captain?"

"_We're at Rickover's house now. He's not here. Do you have any idea where the body could be in his yard? It's pretty big, and we're gonna have to wait until tomorrow to get the dogs here…_"

"I don't know, Captain; I'd have to see it again. Look for a yellower patch of grass or one that is a ligher shade of green—"

"_Anything that can be seen easily at night?"_ the captain interrupted. It was then that Stottlemeyer realized that the dark wouldn't have hindered Monk in noticing a subtle difference in grass color._ "Anything that can be seen by me?_"

"Probably not. I told you I should've went along."

"_We won't worry about the body tonight, but we _are_ going to stake out his house all night and nab him when he returns. How's Natalie doing?_"

"She says she's doing just fine. She's in room 20. They're going to observe her tonight."

"_Dr. Shuler's a good doctor; I'm glad he was able to help her so quickly. I'll be by tomorrow morning, Monk, and I'll give you a call as soon as Rickover gets home, okay?_"

* * *

After the conversation with the captain had ended, Monk yanked out his IV, cringing at the sight of the needle that had been in his arm. Immediately he lowered the railing to his hospital bed and climbed out, throwing on the clothing and accessories he had worn to the hospital. For the second time since watching Trudy's tape, adrenaline was coursing through his veins, making his vision shake and his throat dry as cotton. It wasn't very difficult to evade the nurses and take the stairwell to the first floor. Within minutes, Monk was back outside, coughing heavily as he breathed in the cool night air.

It was a rather chilly evening, dark and overcast. Monk strode down the street with purpose—only several blocks from here was where he'd find Ethan Rickover—the birthing center, where the Judge would be removing any further records implicating him in the string of deaths.

He moved quickly along the sidewalks, arriving at the birthing center in record time. Occasionally he glanced behind himself to ensure that he wasn't being followed. The confirmation that he wasn't being followed was a bittersweet one; on the one hand, he was glad he'd get to go through with this, but on the other hand…

As he took a step in front of the birthing center, he could look through the window at the interior of the building. The glass was unbroken and no alarms had been set off. He continued to concentrate on anything unusual inside the building.

Then he saw it. The dim light of a flashlight covered by a hand.

He took a deep breath and held it. The light was aimed down at Dr. Nash's desk, a subtle shadow of flipping pages able to be seen. He watched the intruder frustratingly flip through the pages, watched the bowed head of gray hair, the tense shoulders as the man continued to search feverishly.

Monk moved to the door as he kept low, gently pushing on the handle. The door was unlocked. He immediately concluded that Kazarinski must have stolen one of Dr. Nash's keys and relayed it to Rickover, in case he had been instructed by the Judge to return for the written record.

Looking down at his hip, Monk removed his service pistol and held it in his shaking hand, contemplating for a moment. It was time to confront the man who had murdered his wife twelve years ago almost to the day.

* * *

Monk stepped through the door to the birthing center, his gun already aimed at Rickover.

"Ethan Rickover," Monk said, his gravelly voice carrying ominously through the room.

The man at the desk's head shot up and he stared at the intruder, eyes wide with fear. At recognition of the man in the doorway, he calmed down quite a bit.

"Adrian Monk," the man replied cordially, shining the flashlight in Monk's eyes, which elicited a cringe from Monk. "Don't you have more important things to worry about?"

Monk's hand and eyesight shook dizzily from the rush of adrenaline to every organ of his body. On his face was a stare of death. The Judge slowly stood up from the chair to his full height, leaving the book on the desktop.

"What's more important than my wife?" Monk replied viciously.

"Your wife?" The Judge looked lost. "What are you talking about?"

Monk glared back at him, hatred boiling in his veins. He was seeing red.

"You killed my wife."

The words settled over the room ominously, yet somehow didn't shake up the Judge in the least.

"I must've missed something," Rickover replied with a confident smile, "because I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about."

"You killed my wife Trudy Monk twelve years ago…. almost to the day."

"Trudy… Monk." He shook his head dramatically. "The name doesn't ring a bell; I'm sorry."

"I don't blame you; it's probably hard for you to keep track of names, seeing as you have the blood of _several_ people on your hands."

"I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, Mr. Monk."

"I should have done this twelve years ago," Monk spat, his gun aimed squarely between Rickover's eyes.

Rickover was no slouch; he could see that Monk was enraged and quite capable of killing him.

"Is there any proof for your accusations?" Rickover asked. "Otherwise, if you kill me, it's going to look like you went nuts."

"You're looking at it."

Rickover glanced around him as if confused. Monk clarified, his voice ragged.

"The record book… the written record that ties your name in with the unsolved, 30-year-old murder of a pregnant teenager. Kazarinski didn't finish the job to your liking, did he?"

Suddenly Rickover pulled out a page from the record book, triumphantly holding up a sheet of paper. He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and caught the paper on fire.

"What record?" Rickover asked with an easy smile, tossing the quickly burning paper onto the desk. "You've got nothing, Mr. Monk. You and your wife are quite alike, I must say: neither of you could implicate me."

"That's not true. Trudy made a tape."

"A tape." It looked as if the Judge were about to laugh, a fact which enraged Monk, who found it harder and harder to speak rationally.

"A tape with everything: the girl you impregnated then beat to death, Trudy and Wendy Stroh finding the girl, the article Trudy wrote and the source you murdered…"

The Judge shined the flashlight into Monk's face again, causing Monk to raise his free arm to shield his eyes.

"Is that supposed to scare me? Because it doesn't."

"I know where the body is," Monk growled, his eyes narrowed. "Wendy Stroh—her body is in your backyard. The police are already there."

The Judge looked a bit uncomfortable yet said nothing.

"Put your hands up," Monk snarled. "And lay down the flashlight."

Rickover complied, but as he put down the flashlight, he cringed away from the desk, staring at it all the while. The glow emanating from the streetlamps outside illuminated the room with a dim yellowish light, yet it was enough for Monk to see Rickover's face.

"Look at me!" Monk bellowed. "I want to watch you die."

Rickover continued to stare at the desk, his eyes taking on a look of alarm.

"You _should_ be terrified!" Monk yelled, noting the horrified look in the Judge's eyes, though not focused on him, as he waved his gun about dangerously. "This is your last night alive! Any last words? No, wait…. you know what; you don't deserve any last words…"

Monk's rage spiraled more and more out of control with the realization that he could not achieve the satisfaction of Rickover looking at him. His face twisted into a scowl of fury, he aimed his pistol in the air, firing a shot into the ceiling above Rickover.

Pieces of ceiling sprinkled down on the Judge's head, the Judge who was now giving Monk his undivided attention.

"Now that I have your attention," Monk announced, face murderous, "I have decided that based on the heinousness of your crimes…. I hereby sentence you to death. Sound familiar?"

"California has since abolished capital punishment," the Judge replied, "so no, it doesn't."

"Tonight I make the rules." Monk cocked his handgun, his hand steady and eyes sharp.

"Please wait—just a minute," the Judge suddenly blurted. "Don't do this. I have a family…."

"I had a family too, until you took it away from me."

"Please, Mr. Monk. Let's just let the police take care of this and arrest me. Argh! Oww!"

Rickover leapt into the air as Monk noticed flames spreading through a stack of papers on Nash's desk, beginning to engulf the highly flammable varnish of the wooden desk.

"No," Monk stated resolutely, his finger on the trigger. "You deserve to burn in hell—starting now!"

Suddenly he heard knocking on the glass. For a split-second he turned his head to see—was that _Natalie_?

* * *

**A/N: A rather nasty cliffhanger, eh? I should have the last (I promise) chapter posted by tomorrow at the latest! I haven't yet written it unfortunately, but that does mean that your constructive feedback will play a big role in getting me to put pen to paper (or in my case, finger to keyboard) and post this final chapter!!! Please let me know your thoughts!!**


	11. Conclusion

**A/N: Sorrry, guys! I had every intention of posting the final chapter last night, but after writing the last chapter I accidentally left an updated version of several sections of the last chapter at my workplace and so I had to wait until today to incorporate it into what I wrote last night! Well, I hope you like this final chapter (sorry it's not an even number!) I really appreciate all the feedback and interest you guys have provided for this story! Please please let me know what you think of the conclusion!**

* * *

At acknowledgment of her presence by Monk's intense gaze, Natalie hurriedly entered the birthing center. Monk was shaking with rage, aiming a gun at Ethan Rickover, who was standing in the midst of a quickly-growing fire.

"Mr. Monk; don't do this," she begged of him, watching his expression remain stoic. "You don't have to kill him."

"He's long overdue for his punishment," Monk replied, never taking his eyes off of Rickover.

"He'll get his punishment—you don't have to be the one to give it to him," she insisted, moving closer to Monk. Right now she actually feared the man she thought she knew so well. She'd never seen him so furious.

"He ruined my life," Adrian muttered quietly, his gun hand wavering as he spoke. "He took everything from me."

"Please," Rickover suddenly said, causing both Natalie and Adrian to look at him. "I have a family," he reiterated, hoping that the woman in the room would be a bit more sympathetic to the situation.

"And I don't—because of you," Monk spat, his dark eyes full of spite. Natalie watched his finger tighten on the trigger….

"That's not true. You do have a family," she murmured. "Me and Julie. We're your family."

It was then that Monk turned his head to look at her, the mouth that had previously been twisted into a scowl instantly going slack.

"What?"

He looked absolutely perplexed, for her statement had caught off guard. Here he was, ready to kill someone, and she was spewing sappy sentiments?

"You have a husband," Adrian mumbled, "and Julie has a father. It's not me."

Noticing his expression, Natalie reached towards Adrian—and placed her hand on his back, patting it soothingly yet gingerly. His shoulder twitched as he turned his head for a moment, locking eyes with her eyes, which were full of tears. It was then that she could see it—a flash of shame on Monk's face.

"Mitch is dead, Mr. Monk…." she murmured quietly, her voice breaking. "…And so is Trudy. There's nothing we can do that'll bring them back. Killing Rickover isn't going to bring Trudy back to you, just as my attempt at romance with Albright wasn't going to bring Mitch back. We both have to accept the cards that life dealt us and move forward."

"But, Natalie…."

His eyes flashed up briefly at the Judge, who moved slowly away from the fire that had engulfed the doctor's desk.

It was then that a cool hand was placed on Adrian's cheek, redirecting his face to look at the woman beside him. She gazed deep into his eyes, studying the dark brown depths as he averted his gaze.

"Please don't do this, Adrian."

It was then that it hit him—Natalie had called him by his first name. It was only one of perhaps a handful of times she had done so in the past several years, most often when she was yelling out of fear or reading his mail to him. A shiver crept up his spine, though the temperature in the birthing center had done nothing but increase as the fire in front of them grew larger. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so moved at hearing his name spoken. Natalie had finally forsaken the words that had inadvertently distanced him from her. The hand that held the gun dropped limply to Monk's side, as his eyes filled with tears. Natalie put her arms around him, enveloping him in a gentle hug, as he cried silently into her shoulder.

As she held Adrian tightly to her, Natalie's attention was redirected to the Judge. He had moved out from behind the desk and was approaching the main door—which meant that he was coming towards them.

"Thank you, Ma'am," Rickover muttered with a nod, turning to step around the group as he continued towards the door.

"No. You're staying here," Natalie blurted, causing Monk to lift up his head in surprise. Rickover didn't so much as flinch. "The police will be here soon," she added. Suddenly he sped up, making it to the door in three giant strides.

"I'd rather not," he exclaimed, as he clutched the handle of the door.

All of a sudden, Natalie grabbed the gun off of Monk and aimed it square in the center of Rickover's chest, now at point-blank range.

"I once killed a man in self-defense, and right now you'd better get back or I may have to repeat myself," she growled.

His hands up, his eyebrows lifted with surprise, he backed up a couple of steps and then stopped.

"No," she commanded. She lifted a hand off of the gun to point. "Over there. Now."

"You have no reason to kill me," the Judge said with a sneer, remaining in place. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You should be," she growled, her voice low and intimidating. He stood in place, a cocky smile on his face, as they glared at each other in a contest that didn't seem winnable. Suddenly Rickover's eyes went wide with fear and he stepped backward until he hit the back of his knees against something blocking his way.

With Natalie's back turned to the door, Captain Stottlemeyer and Randy Disher silently entered the building, their guns drawn.

"That's right, you rotten excuse for a human being," Natalie snarled. "Ha! Now you're afraid! Take me seriously now? That's what I thought, you scumbag."

Suddenly she was tapped on the shoulder. She glanced over at Monk to see him pointing in the opposite direction. Captain Stottlemeyer and Disher stood just inside the door of the birthing center, their guns on Rickover. With a sigh of relief, she lowered Monk's gun and let the police take over.

"SFPD!" the Captain said, flashing his badge and moving quickly into the room. "Earl Rickover; you're under arrest for homicide!"

Rickover could only stand in place, hands still raised in the air. A strong smell of smoke occurred to everyone, as it was soon apparent that the Judge had caught on fire. He had backed right into the desk he had set on fire with the birth record he had torched.

Rather than immediately react, the Judge let the fire climb up the raincoat he was wearing, everyone watching in awe as the flames engulfed the plastic material, licking higher and higher until the screams began.

Monk could only stare at the hideous scene as Rickover collapsed to the ground screaming horrifically, a stomach-turning smell of burning flesh filling the building as Rickover tried in vain to put out the flames. He felt pangs of nausea at the smelling of cooking human flesh but couldn't tear himself away from watching the murderer of his wife burn. As the captain and Disher moved forward with their weapons, instructing Rickover to keep rolling around, Natalie pulled Adrian away from the view, grunting with exertion as she yanked him out the door with her.

They stood outside in the fresh air, Monk's view still focused inside the smoke-filled building. Natalie promptly moved in front of him, redirecting him to look at the fire trucks that had pulled along the curb, followed by a bevy of police cruisers and ambulances.

"How can you stand to watch that?" she asked him. "That smell was horrible—I mean, my God, he's being roasted alive."

"You're right," he admitted, looking embarrassed. "Even so, it's deliciously ironic that he got burned from his torching a piece of evidence of his past crimes."

"That's very true," she replied, a smirk on her face. "Guess he's burning in hell sooner than we could've predicted—and ultimately it was by his own hand."

"I could've put the fire out, I think," Monk suddenly admitted.

"What are you talking about? Did you know where the fire hoses were in the building or something?"

Monk shook his head.

"Here's the thing: I was really close to _V_-ing at that smell; but putting out the fire on him with _that_ would be too cruel, I think. No one deserves that."

"That's true," she said with a smile.

"How did you know where to find me?" he suddenly blurted, a confused expression on his face.

"I was suspicious as soon as you blamed my being poisoned for your not going after Rickover on your own. As for tracking you down to the birthing center; I heard the gunshot and immediately knew where'd you'd be," she explained.

"How did you know I'd left the hospital?"

"When I heard the stairwell door open by my room…. I knew it was you."

"How?"

She flashed him a knowing smile.

"Who _else_ would voluntarily take the stairs in a five-story building?"

He nodded, the look of confusion fading away as he realized his assistant knew him better than he'd suspected. It was oddly comforting to know that though Natalie knew all about him, she continued to stick around.

With a big smile on her face at Adrian's acceptance of her reasoning, Natalie threaded her arm into the crook of Adrian's arm and carefully tucked his gun back into its holster for him. He flinched a bit at her unexpected contact with his hip, a fact that made her grin with amusement.

"What are you flinching away for?" she said in a laughing tone. "Don't you like me touching you like that?" she added with a giggle.

"It's not that," he replied, adjusting his shoulders with a well-placed twitch. "It… tickled."

"But you didn't laugh," she retorted, running a finger up his side to no effect. "You have to laugh when it tickles."

"Is that a fact," he replied, his face emotionless as he looked down at her.

She nodded in response, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Well, we'll just have to see about that," he said, stroking his chin thoughtfully with his free hand.

With that, Adrian quickly snaked his free hand under her armpit, his fingers moving around rapidly as Natalie erupted in a fit of giggles, pulling away from him with a big appreciative guffaw.

As paramedics rushed into the building behind them, the garbled screams of Rickover audible through the opened door, Monk was too preoccupied with Natalie to watch the events unfolding behind him.

A huge smile on his face, he watched Natalie recover from the unexpected tickling.

"I guess you're right," he replied with a shrug, his smile ever widening. "I'll have to laugh next time."

* * *

"Wait, Natalie—they're not even," Adrian cried, shushing Natalie out of the way and then bending the branch of his Christmas tree a tad more. He stood back, and with a sigh, moved again to the tree.

As the pair stood in front of Adrian's picture window, Dick Haymes' _Christmas Dreaming_ playing softly in the background, Natalie closed her eyes for a moment and smiled contentedly. In the past couple of days, Adrian had since recovered from the poisoning, and Wendy's Stroh's body had been exhumed from its shallow grave in the Judge's yard—recognized by a subtle patch of yellowish tinged grass—and now properly laid to rest. Now things seemed to be back to normal—well, better than normal, actually. A burden had been lifted off of Adrian's shoulders at the resolution of his wife's death and Julie was home from college and busy rolling out cookie dough on Adrian's kitchen island. Mostly Natalie was relieved to know that Adrian wouldn't have to relive bad memories and testify at Ethan Rickover's trial. The man who had killed Trudy a dozen years before had perished in the birthing center that night, in the fire that he himself had set. Adrian had breezily described the Judge's fate as symbolic, and that the 'fire' had actually been set years ago. She couldn't have described it any better.

Natalie watched Adrian with amusement as he readjusted a second branch, finishing it off with a light tap to the tip of the branch. He backed up again, bumping into Natalie in the process, and held his hands palm up as he admired his handiwork.

"Now they're perfect," he admitted with a smile of relief.

"This is going to take a really long time if you're going to adjust them as we go along," Natalie commented. "That's only the second branch we've put on. Why don't we just wait until the tree is completely set up before we make any adjustments to it?"

"We have eight hours until the department Christmas party," Adrian replied, after glancing down at his watch. "That gives us exactly enough time to set up the tree and get ready."

Natalie gently rolled her eyes but continued to assist Adrian at putting together his Christmas tree. All of a sudden she remembered something.

"Guess who's bringing a hot date to the Christmas party?" she teased, her eyes full of spunk.

"You mean, besides me?" he replied coolly, eyes flashing mischievously at Natalie.

"Oh, you're silly," she said, lightly squeezing his arm. "But I'm actually referring to Randy. Sharona flew back in from New Jersey!"

"Is that right?" Adrian asked, picking up another branch of his faux Christmas tree and inserting the metal clip into the heavy green base.

"Initially she wasn't going to come, but she flew in only yesterday to see how you were doing."

"Ha," he said with a forced chuckle, beginning to adjust the individual branch-lets. "I know better than that. She's here for Randy, Natalie. She doesn't even know what's happened these past few days."

"About that…. Well, I asked Randy to tell her what had happened," Natalie replied with a cute little smirk. "And he said he already had, and that she was en route—and then he covered his mouth as if he'd just let a secret slip."

"Don't be surprised if Randy decides to move to the east coast," Adrian noted. "In fact, I guarantee it."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"I know what it's like to be in love," he replied, his big smile warming up all his features. "And from what I can see, he's definitely smitten with her."

* * *

Eight hours later, Adrian and Natalie walked into the police station arm in arm, he in a black suit with white undershirt and a crisp new Christmas tie from Natalie, she in a knee-length red dress, perfectly matching red heels, and tiny gold and red earrings in the shape of candy canes. Police officers walked around chatting amiably with each other, dressed not in their uniforms but instead wearing Christmas-themed ties, their wives in dresses and pantsuits of various shades of red, green, and gold.

Gaping at the sizable crowd, Monk never remembered the party being so packed—but then again, he usually chose to skip the annual SFPD Christmas party due to the fact that the anniversary of Trudy's death was only a couple of days before. Come to think of it, he hadn't been to one of these since Trudy had been killed. The department was much smaller thirteen years ago, when he last attended the party with Trudy in 1996, slightly less than a year before she died. He put on a smile, though reminiscing made him feel overly sentimental. Trudy had worn red that year… but—he couldn't believe he dared think it—the red dress that Natalie was wearing was prettier.

The desks of the officers had been moved to the edges of the room and were covered with festive Christmas tablecloth, serving well as tables for the buffet, punch bowl, and hors d'ouvres. Red and green tinsel festively hung from the ceiling, and in this moment, arm in arm with Natalie, Adrian didn't notice the unevenness of the decorations.

Captain Stottlemeyer was the first to approach the couple, a big appreciative smile on his face at the sight of two people who had never looked so happy.

"Natalie, you look beautiful. And Monk—you're looking real good, buddy. It's great that you both could make it." He gave them both a hug and then T.K. Stottlemeyer joined in, greeting the pair.

It wasn't a minute later that Adrian heard the voice: Sharona's distinctive Jersey accent as she shouted out "Adrian!" Within a moment she was right in front of him in a low cut black and red dress, a pair of very high open-toed heels on her feet as she leaned into him, enveloping her former boss in a heartfelt embrace.

"Oh, Adrian; I heard about what happened to you," she muttered, patting his back. "God, am I glad that you're okay! And not only that but that you finally nailed the bastard!"

"The answer was right in front of me all this time," Adrian admitted, looking a bit ashamed. "Twelve _years_ I kept Trudy's gift without opening it…."

"Merry Christmas, Monk," Randy interrupted, moving in behind the detective.

"It's not Christmas yet, Randy," Natalie replied, gazing over at the lieutenant, who had since turned red. "We still have one more week."

"Yeah, but I'm not going to be around then…." Randy replied, looking sheepish.

Adrian gave Natalie a little elbow.

"Where are you going to be?" Natalie asked the speechless lieutenant, his face reddening even further, eyes darting around nervously.

Randy stuttered awkwardly for a couple of seconds and then changed the subject in his mind, his face becoming positively giddy.

"Hey, you guys have any song requests?"

Natalie shook her head after a second, all the while Randy stared at Adrian for some input.

"Uhm… not at the moment," Adrian admitted, not too excited to hear Randy's never-ending protest songs. Granted, Randy was a decent enough guitar player—but the verses definitely needed abridging.

As the captain and T.K. brought Adrian and Natalie some warm wassail, Adrian watched Randy stride away confidently over to a high tech stereo system he had set up in the police station just as Jim Reeves' the _Merry Christmas Polka_ abruptly ended. Monk caught himself in a sigh of relief. _Good; he can only play the standard 2- and 3-minute Christmas songs…_

Suddenly Randy beamed Monk and Natalie's way, his cheerful blue eyes easily visible across the room. Adrian watched as he pointed down at the laptop he had set up, a look of confusion on his face as Randy gave him a double thumbs up.

Within a moment the next song began, Otis Redding's _White Christmas_. A slow song meant for a slow _dance_. Adrian exchanged a glance with Natalie, who gave him an encouraging smile. He felt panic rise in his throat at the thought of dancing with Natalie in front of all these people. Suddenly it occurred to him that it was impressive for him to even _consider _dancing in public, and he felt strengthened by the thought.

Adrian stood ramrod straight beside Natalie, watching Randy step out from behind his laptop and go to Sharona, gazing at the two of them walking casually to the dance floor. Captain Stottlemeyer followed suit with T.K., and soon most of the department was dancing with their spouses on the makeshift dance floor, swaying slowly to the soulful Christmas song. Monk stood awkwardly, his hands clasped in front of him, as Natalie inadvertently assumed the same hand position. This was too much.

"Natalie," he murmured ever so quietly.

She turned to look at him, her eyes hopeful.

"Would you like to dance with me?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she replied with a giddy smile. She slipped her arm through the crook of his arm but was met with resistance. Adrian had stopped Natalie's hand from resting on his forearm, using his other arm to lower her hand and then catching it with his hand as it dropped back down. As they took the first faltering steps towards the dance floor, Adrian threaded his fingers between Natalie's, their palms flush with each other. They were holding hands, a fact which was not lost on Captain Stottlemeyer, who excitedly pointed out the unexpected display of affection to his wife.

Once Natalie and Adrian arrived at an open spot, which was eagerly created for them by Randy and Sharona, they simultaneously released the handhold. Natalie placed her arms on Adrian's broad shoulders, which had been nicely accentuated by the crisp suit, her hands draping onto his upper back. Likewise, he gingerly placed his hands on her hips then allowed them to drift back to her lower back.

They swayed in time to the music, Natalie pressing her body against Adrian's as the room's lighting dimmed—Randy flashing them a look of triumph as he operated the remote—and it was as if they were the only people in the room.

Adrian found himself pulling her against him in return, the musculature of her back moving with the music, the feminine swell of her stomach against his abdomen, the scent of light flowery perfume in her hair as her smooth face nuzzled into his neck, the warmth of her fingers as she rested her hands on his back. His head spun with thoughts that had been cast aside for so long that he hadn't realized it was possible for them to ever exist again. He wanted to hold Natalie forever against him, wanted to kiss her goodnight every night, wanted to wake up next to her every morning. He could picture him and Natalie growing old together, could picture giving Julie away at her wedding, could picture his entire life with Natalie—a life he found himself wanting more and more with each additional second spent with Natalie.

"Natalie," he murmured, using the sways to gently lead them away from the other couples. His voice sounded foreign to him, low and husky and _yearning_. She lifted her head to look into his eyes, and he was taken aback. His mouth hung open as he simply stared at her, taking in the beauty that he had overlooked for so many years—the sparkling blue eyes, the perfect symmetry of her eyes, her nose, her lips. How could he have been such a fool as to not see Natalie for what she truly was to him—a passionate, loving, beautiful woman—not simply his hired assistant? Now it was difficult for him to take a breath. He stopped swaying, though the music continued to play.

"Yes, Adrian?" Natalie asked, smiling up at him.

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say my name," he murmured, his speech coming out as one long exhalation of air.

"I'm very glad you're happy." Her eyes narrowed playfully at him, and she gently ran a thumb up the back of Adrian's neck. "And did I mention how _becoming_ you look in your suit?"

"Here's the thing—you're… you're simply… amazing, Natalie."

She held her breath, her heartbeat pounding faster and faster until she felt like her whole body was shaking. Adrian's warm brown eyes were positively joyful as he gazed into her sparkling blue eyes.

Natalie felt his hold around her waist tighten for a moment, fire in his touch. When Adrian finally continued to speak, his voice came out even huskier than before.

"I love you, Natalie."

The music had all but completely faded into obscurity. She gazed up into his eyes, a smile spreading across her entire face, which was now blushing uncontrollably.

"I love you too, Adrian."

With that the moment arrived, as sudden as a strong gust of wind sweeping across the Bay. Adrian closed his eyes and leaned forward and downwards, his lips tentatively connecting with Natalie's. All of a sudden Natalie's hands rose off of his back, and then her fingers were sliding up through his curly hair, gently pulling his face closer to her own. At the same time, Adrian's hands moved to the center of her back, clutching Natalie tightly as they continued the kiss, completely unaware of everyone around them.

The pair continued the kiss until eventually they ran out of air and pulled apart slowly, their faces flushed and satisfied, lips glistening and slightly swollen from their first kiss.

The music was now in the midst of a more modern song, _All I Want For Christmas Is You_. Natalie and Adrian glanced around them at the police officers dancing awkwardly to the faster beat, trying their best to appear uninterested in the scene unfolding between the obsessive-compulsive detective and his assistant.

Rather than leave the dance floor, Natalie and Adrian found themselves reaching out for each other again, holding on tightly to each other as if never wanting to let go. As Randy's disco ball cast tiny white spinning dots over the dance floor, Adrian and Natalie swayed slowly back and forth, the only couple in the room slow-dancing to the fast-paced song. And though Adrian knew what they were doing was very noticeable, he shut his eyes and instead counted his own thudding heartbeats coinciding with Natalie's.

* * *

A week later, Natalie and Julie sat on the floor of Adrian's living room, passing around the presents that were stashed incredibly neatly under Adrian's perfectly symmetrical Christmas tree. He sat on his ottoman at Natalie's side, enjoying their expressions of excitement as their gift stacks grew. It was Christmas morning, and as the early rays of sunshine flooded through Adrian's blinds, it cast lines of light across his apartment.

They each had their respective stacks, Natalie having been able to recognize all the presents that Monk had placed under the tree for her and Julie several days before. It was then that she spotted a lone present tucked behind the metal base of the tree, a gift that threw off the symmetry of the gift piles Adrian had arranged under the Christmas tree.

It was addressed to her. She held it in her hands, unsure of how to react.

"It's from me," Adrian admitted. "And just to let you know," Adrian muttered with a little smile, "it's not a tape."

"I could tell it was from you, just from the perfect wrapping job," Natalie replied. "You're really going to have to show me how to do this sometime, Adrian," she added, showing Julie and Monk the perfection of the wrapping.

She weighed the box in her hands, giving it a slight shake to listen for a rattle. Suddenly Natalie's head shot up and she stared at Adrian. Her eyes went right to his bare left ring finger. All the color left her face, her heartbeat suddenly thundering in her ears like a stampede.

"Wait—" she gasped, covering her mouth with a hand. She couldn't help but look again at that finger missing its silver band. "Adrian, is this…a—"

"Natalie…" Adrian interrupted, flashing the biggest of smiles in an attempt to disguise his own heartbeat thudding in his ears. "…if you don't mind, I'd rather leave the detective work for, well, _work_."

"Open it, Mom," Julie interrupted, beaming at Natalie and scooting closer to her.

"Maybe Adrian wants me to wait for this one, sweetheart."

"Here's the thing," Adrian interjected. "It _can't_ wait, Natalie. Which reminds me; I have a new motto."

"What's that?" the two women asked simultaneously.

It was then that Adrian smiled at his family, a big satisfied smile.

"Sometimes it's best to just open the present."

* * *

**A/N: Ta da! What'd you think? Just because the story is over doesn't mean you shouldn't tell me what you think! For my next venture I might either (1) continue from this story or (2) continue from the final episode of the series, and so I need all the encouragement I can get to take on such a task! Please, even if you haven't reviewed before, I invite you to do so now!**


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